


novaturient

by woofio



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Codependency, Gen, Human Experimentation, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Loss of Identity, Pre-Arcobaleno Curse (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Pre-Canon, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-01-05 07:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 111,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21204326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woofio/pseuds/woofio
Summary: Death is not an end, simply a beginning to something greater. Ryo takes his rebirth into the past in stride. As expected, nothing works out in his favor.In which someone with no knowledge of the KHR world is born into it.





	1. cacaesthesia

**Author's Note:**

> novaturient (adj.)  
desiring or seeking powerful change in one’s life, behavior, or situation (pronuntiation/"nO-va-‘tUr-E-ent)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.”  
― Stephen King, Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption: A Story from Different Seasons
> 
> cacaesthesia: a morbid sensation or disordered sensibility

Death, for all people claim it to be, ended up being entirely fleeting and rather uneventful. A quiet, dawning realization of: ‘oh, I’m alive’. Then, a moment later, nothing. Truthfully, being dead was quite boring. Being reborn even more so.

In the coastal town of Catania, Sicily, hidden away from the world, an unnamed woman gave birth to her first and only child in a small, cramped storehouse on her lonesome. It was a long labor, lasting a little over twelve hours, and the woman cursed the babe for its unwillingness to leave the womb. As stubborn as its father, she thought. At the end of her seemingly endless trial, she was left with a newborn son who took his first breath without wailing no matter how firmly the woman slapped his back.

Giving it up as a lost cause, and satisfied regardless due to the child seemingly having no conflict with breathing, the woman washed the child in a basin of water she had earlier prepared. The water was lukewarm from sitting out for so long, but the babe didn’t so much as fuss. _A blessing_, the woman decided. The gods blessed her with a calm child after such a strenuous ordeal. “Ryo,” she hummed at last, the name spoken like a command. It was the only word said in the room that day apart from her pained cursing during the birth.

Milky, baby-blue eyes squinted dubiously up at her, as if questioning all of her choices in caring for a babe while still trembling in exertion and thighs covered in afterbirth. In response, the woman simply laughed.  


____  


Ryo wasn’t entirely sure exactly when an adult’s awareness began to trickle into his consciousness. It was a gradual process, slow to an almost painful degree. He had fleeting moments of an adult’s sentience, but overall was happy to live out his early childhood in a dreamy haze. It was a dull schedule of waking up, crying, latching onto a breast for milk, getting changed (_absolutely horrific—no need to remember that_), and a whole lot of sleep. He was content to live out his life in a dreamlike world until, one morning, he awoke from his spot curled into his mother’s side and had the quite uncommon realization that he was not in the correct body.

It was a disorienting realization that was met with trained outward calmness. _Panicking does no favors for rationalization_, his mother’s voice reminded him. He was sure that his mother knew of his discomfort regardless, the woman seemed to be psychic. It was somewhat disturbing, in his opinion. 

Even with the foreign start to his morning, everything else was routine. The morning sunlight danced over their still bodies, lighting up their somewhat bedraggled but clean clothing. Ryo sat up quietly, glancing up to meet his mother’s dark, knowing gaze...How terrifying she could be.

My _mother_, he wondered to himself. _How truly bizarre._

Reincarnation was not an uncommon belief in Ryo’s seemingly former life. Plenty of people believed in it. It wasn’t a religion he necessarily subscribed to, but he might seriously give it some reconsideration given that he was, after all, three years old and a completely different person. Ryo stared back at his mother for several minutes before crawling out from under the warm blanket. He struggled to his annoyingly incompetent toddler feet and waddled over to the water pitcher that rested on the ground for easy access. At least he had already gained control over his bowels. Ryo wasn’t sure he could have stood being completely aware while being potty trained.

His mother kept an eye on his actions from where she lay, looking every part the dangerous feline he logically knew she wasn’t. It didn’t stop him from making the comparison to the big cats he saw in all of the nature documentaries he had spent an almost obsessive time watching in his previous life. Animal planet truly was educational. Carefully, making as little noise as possible, he dipped the ladle and brought it to his mouth, taking careful sips. 

_A single ladleful in the morning for drinking, and one for washing up_, his mother’s voice reminded him from his subconscious. Obediently (always obediently for the woman who protected him), Ryo dampened the rag laid next to the pitcher and scrubbed at his face, neck, hands, and, lastly, feet.

Aside from his odd revelation of rebirth, Ryo’s morning was painfully ordinary and kept to the same song and dance it always did.  


____  


Several weeks later, Ryo was brought out of the little storeroom and tiny courtyard that defined his existence in this world as he knew it. Stepping over the threshold felt foreign and firmly Unallowed. The gate had always served as the boundary his mother cautioned him against crossing each day before she left. Personally, Ryo thought that his caution at leaving the courtyard was rather understandable after being trained into it, but his mother hummed in displeasure.

“Hesitation is for the weak, Ryo,” was apparently today’s imparted piece of Wisdom. “If you want to survive in this world, you must have confidence in your decisions and make them quickly.”

Emboldened by his mother’s age-appropriate advice, Ryo took a large step directly from where he stood on the other side of the crooked, wrought iron gate; immediately, he tripped on the uneven cobblestone that Italian alleyways seemed to favor. Lying flat on his face, Ryo didn’t cry, but clambered to his toddler feet again and stared meaningfully at his mother. She accepted the mental message of ‘carry on’ and began to walk at a purposeful pace, trusting Ryo to trot by her hip without falling behind. If he did, it was his responsibility to keep up.

Personally, Ryo thought her child-rearing choices were a bit questionable, but he had never raised a child nor remembered his previous experience as a baby and as such was content to simply follow her lead. His mother led him through the backstreets and alleyways that made up a messy system that she had perfected navigating before they finally exited onto what appeared to be a main path for foot traffic. A bustling morning market had sprouted along the road, farmers and aspiring entrepreneurs shouting out prices and deals for what appeared to be every ware one could imagine.

For his first experience with the outside world, Ryo was rather unimpressed. He scowled and curled his lip at the noise of it all. People were everywhere, bodies crowding together in a disgusting mess, a cacophony rising from the grotesque mass. It looked rather similar to an anthill he had once overturned in their tiny, boxed in space. Ryo shuddered in horror at the mess and stared pointedly at his mother in a blatant request to return home. He rather preferred his quiet corner of the Catania back streets. She declined with a sharp tilt of her head and Ryo huffed in response.

“Today,” she began, tone betraying the beginning of a Lesson, “You shall learn how to steal.”

Ryo blinked in confusion, unsure of the turn this trip was taking. “Why?” he queried.

“You must learn to provide for yourself, Ryo,” his mother explained. “I won’t always be able to take care of you. When you get a bit older, you’ll be expected to help contribute to the family. As you are still young, this avenue is currently the best one available.”

Ryo hummed in an exact mimic of his mother, missing the amused tilt to her lips when she heard him while he was lost in thought. He supposed it made sense. The two of them had very little, just the tiny storeroom where he’d been born and a little rectangular courtyard of cracked stone with tall weeds and small patches of grass growing in the crevices. The two of them left the tenacious plants due to them being the only source of greenery they possessed.

Inside the room, they kept a single pillow, three ratty blankets, a chipped ceramic pitcher that held water for drinking and washing up, and a crate that held any other supplies his mother brought home on the days she disappeared. Ryo didn’t terribly mind being extremely poor in this life. He had been kept apart from others and had imprinted rather firmly on his mother. Overall, she was all he truly required for happiness. He supposed that was the purpose of it. Twisted from society’s standards, but it made a wicked sort of sense to him. She needed him to follow her without question to keep him from being lost out in this wild jungle man called civilization.

Obedience and total loyalty was expected of him, not asked. Ryo loved his mother entirely and appreciated the effort she put forth to keep them both alive. If stealing was her method of doing so, then as a child who benefitted from the crime he supposed he couldn’t judge. So, rather than arguing or questioning any further as many children might have done, he simply nodded in firm acceptance. 

“Thievery requires nimble fingers, keen eyes, and a strategic mind,” his mother explained. “You must be able to pick out the perfect target in the crowd. We live in an area with many idiotic tourists, so try and focus on anyone who looks like a brain-dead foreigner.”

Ryo dubiously stared at his mother's distinctly Asian features, then back at the crowd, which was predominantly composed of Western faces. “What _is_ a foreigner?” he wondered aloud. Logically, Ryo thought it would make sense to target non-Italians. But he and his mother were not of Italian heritage and he didn’t consider himself a foreigner. Going even further into his doubts, Ryo didn’t believe he could confidently pick out a decidedly non-Italian face. Three years of near-complete isolation prevented him from recognizing the common bone structure and typical physical traits of a natural-born Italian.

His mother had a pleased gleam in her eye, which Ryo chose to interpret as him having asked the correct question. “Listen, Ryo,” she murmured, rather than give a straight answer. Ever the fidelitous son, Ryo closed his eyes and tried to pick apart the racket sounding from beyond the safe shelter of their alley.

Now-familiar Italian burbled all around. Traders shouting prices, buyers haggling, a mother soothing her young daughter with promises of something called _gelato_, feet stomping all over the uneven cobblestone, a fountain gushing away, the gentle thrumming of electricity in the buildings around, a rock some passerby had kicked that clattered noisily in the street…It was all almost too much for his sensitive ears. But Ryo’s mother had taught him better than that. Failure and half-heartedness were not an option.

He focused on the speakers, eventually tuning out the other sounds of life around him. Italian was a rather musical language, beautiful in the way it flowed and emotion conveyed through every word. There was a certain cadence that only those who were Italian-born and raised possessed. The more Ryo focused, the more clumsy speakers he could hear. Mispronunciations, grammatical mistakes, fumbled words. He zeroed in on one such speaker, ten feet away from the entrance of their alley and, from the sound of it, miserably trying to complete a monetary exchange with a stall for a bag of coffee beans. 

The stall owner was, of course, charging the poor man through the nose for the most likely average quality beans. Logically, Ryo decided this was due to both the man being a foreigner and the euros the man was waving around as if that would make stall owner lower his outrageous prices. Unversed in the art of both Italian and haggling, the man gave up trying to make his purchase and, out of frustration, stuffed the two €50 bills into his back pocket rather than safely stashing them away in a wallet.

His mother patted Ryo on the head in reward. He straightened his back in pride and stared up at his mother with adoring, expectant eyes. “Well done,” she praised, words which were rarely given and always had to be earned. “You shall play distraction and I will liberate his pockets of the excess weight, hm? The method of decoy is up to you, Ryo. Good fortune.”

Without another word, she melted into the crowd, leaving Ryo standing alone in the shadows. Brain whirling into action, Ryo trotted from his cover and into the mess of bodies with a lip curled in disdain. Very quickly, he learned to hate the feel of stifling crowds. Disgusting, sweaty bodies covered in who-knew-what brushed up against him at every turn. He got stepped on several times, to which he responded with an elbow solidly into the inside of their mid-thigh. Several of the daring criminals outright collapsed from the pain of the pressure point receiving a direct hit, which had the pit of vengeance Ryo held against them burning with satisfaction.

Ryo caught up to the target he had chosen. It was a rather short male specimen, to be truthful. Shorter than almost every man who passed him by, and only a couple of centimeters taller than many of the women. The man (boy?) was trackable only by his rather shocking head of purple hair, which looked unfairly soft and shiny. Ryo wasn’t jealous. The man looked rather downcast, presumably from his failed attempt at securing the coffee.

Using an animal tactic Ryo had observed often in his nature documentaries from Before, he carefully began to walk in a large arc around the man, walking quickly in an effort to cut him off and herd him. Ideally, he would manage to cross paths with the target by simply continuing on his path without much correction. Humans tended to be dumb prey and did not shy away at the presence of a predator, so it was less herding and more simply creating an obstacle. With a few more cruel elbows into sensitive spots his mother had generously shown him, Ryo picked up into a trot and purposefully planted himself right into the target’s path. A bit too early, then. Downcast as he was, the boy didn’t even spare Ryo a glance, seeing as the toddler was pathetically short. A second later, and Ryo was tangled up in the target’s legs.

With a yelp, the man desperately flung his arms about almost comically to try and catch his balance. Annoyed at the lack of an easy fall, Ryo stuck his foot out and tripped the buffoonish man who came toppling down like a particularly clumsy tower. Ryo found himself pressed up between a surprisingly muscular chest and the dusty cobblestone, eyes peering over the man’s shoulder to watch for his mother, who appeared as silently as an apparition while the crowd moved around. He took in a large gulp of air and forced out tearful wails, helplessly banging his hands on the man’s shoulders and stuttering out, “Off! Off!” in the wimpiest voice he could force himself to imitate. Even as his target began to try and rise, Ryo kneed him in the ribs to keep him down until his mother completed her task.

Ryo didn’t even see his mother’s hands move as she strolled past the writhing clump of bodies struggling on the ground, and, nearly as soon as she appeared, was gone. Ryo struggled for a few moments more before the man desperately flung himself back, looking horrified at the thought of nearly crushing a small child. _As he should be_, Ryo thought in irritation, _I’m covered in street dust now._

“I-I’m sorry!” the man gasped, looking near tears as he crawled forward to help Ryo out. He winced at the butchered apology, horrible mispronunciation grating on his already short nerves. The Slavic accent was thick but even more startling was the clownish makeup and heavy jewelry adorning the boy’s face. _Is he being forced into something?_ Ryo couldn’t help but wonder in awed disgust. Surely, no human being would willingly subject themselves to looking like such a garish little caricature.

Alas, the performance must continue on. “It’s okay,” Ryo sniffled from his spot on the ground, even as he cringed at the filth coming from his own mouth. Pickpocketing had ended up being more humiliating than he could have ever imagined. He wanted to cut his own tongue out. 

When he stumbled to his feet, Ryo made a show out of whining when he put weight on his left ankle, limping about in circles and sniffling, imitating the noises a stray litter of puppies would make when they begged their mother for milk. It was a heartbreakingly pathetic sound, he knew, and it took all Ryo had to keep from a smug smirk when the man crawled over in desperation, looking like he might cry himself from sheer guilt.

“Ca-Can I haalp?” he asked, hands fluttering about Ryo uselessly. Ryo pitied him, truthfully, in the way one might pity a bug that mistakenly entered a home before crushing it below a shoe. His mother might have stolen the euros, but Ryo knew that money would be going towards life-sustaining supplies. Since the man before him clearly had money and a terminal case of crushing guilt, Ryo wanted to milk the opportunity for all it was worth. The man had a faced that begged to be abused, after all.

“Gelato?” Ryo asked in a hopeful, babyish tone, eyes going wide and shining with excess tears. He had heard of it in the crowd while searching for weak prey and found himself curious. His mother likely wouldn’t be pleased from the deviation in plans and he would almost certainly be scolded for it, but as his first adventure outside the house Ryo wanted to celebrate the beginning of his criminal career. Slightly ironic that it was all at the expense of the expressive man in front of him, but no matter. 

The man leapt up, confident in his ability to procure this ‘gelato’. It seemed to be a common treat if the foreigner knew of it and Ryo couldn’t help but be childishly excited for the unknown. He was confident in his ability to escape the man in the event that the situation turned dangerous, and there was no doubt in his mind that his mother was keeping a very close eye on him, regardless of if Ryo could see her or not. “I’m Vilem!” the man announced loudly, the only phrase he’d so far spoken that didn’t take several seconds to fully process.

The newly dubbed Vilem held out a hand, which Ryo took after swallowing back his own disgust. He hated touching strangers. “Ryo,” he replied, keeping his pitch high and lips pouty. Vilem helped support Ryo as he limped after the older man, chattering in poor Italian gibberish all the while.

“I know best gelato!” the purple-headed man exclaimed, the only sentence Ryo had been able to decipher from the entire mess he had spoken. The voice and presence was grating, and Ryo found himself regretting choosing to stay out in the very noisy world alongside what had to be the single most annoying foreigner in all of Italy. No, the world.

Vilem did not seem to recognize Ryo’s discomfort and growing irritation, quickly making a left and tugging him along down a quieter street. The decrease in noise levels allowed Ryo to relax a touch, but it didn’t prevent the squeaky nonsense prattling on next to him from worming its way into his skull to contribute towards a massive headache. He slowed down more and more until he stubbornly dug his heels into the road with a mutinous scowl.

Confused at the lack of movement, Vilem turned and had to keep from squealing at what had to be the cutest pout in all of existence. Perhaps it was willful ignorance that the bloodlust in Ryo’s gaze went unnoticed. “Do you want up?” Vilem asked, unsure of how to deal with a grumpy child.

Ryo scowled harder. He didn’t want any more contact. He wanted gelato. He didn’t want to walk. What was gelato? Why was it so far? Lips pursed, he nodded before his childish temper could gain the better of him. Truthfully, he wanted to lay down despite the dirt and scream. Vilem grinned in response and scooped the three-year-old up, swinging him onto his shoulders. To someone who had been extremely tall in his former life, the view really wasn’t all that impressive. To Ryo, who had seen the world from a child’s perspective for three years now, the world became an entirely new place. He couldn’t help the excitement that flew up into his throat.

He could see the entire world from Vilem’s shoulders! They weren’t very broad or sturdy, but the leather jacket felt nice under him and Vilem’s hair was just as soft as it looked from where it was bunched into his childish fists (damn it). It was something as simple as a change in height, but Ryo felt his mood lift up once more. Perhaps Vilem wasn’t so bad after all.

Of course, the man immediately tripped on that thrice-cursed uneven cobblestone, falling to his knees and only just keeping Ryo from face-planting onto the road.

“_Fuck!_” Vilem exclaimed. Ryo jumped at the unfamiliar language, fingers wound tightly in the man’s hair and small legs clamped around his neck in an effort to keep from falling off. Ryo took back everything nice he had thought about the foreigner, he was the _worst._  


____  


“Where is the father? The mother?” Vilem finally asked once they were safely seated on a stone wall in the sunshine, gelato slowly melting in their paper cups. Ryo considered the question as he let a spoonful of creamy lemon sit on his tongue. He had never seen, smelled, or heard even a hint of a so-called ‘father’ near either him or his mother. It had never crossed his mind before, Ryo’s mother being perfectly adequate to care for Ryo all on her own.

According to typical gender roles, fathers were meant to provide, which his mother did. She brought home produce to eat, medicine to soothe injuries, and the occasional luxury item such as an extra blanket or new wash rag. She did all of the providing. Mothers supposedly did all of the emotional care and love, keeping the house in order and children in line. Ryo’s mother also completed those tasks with higher-than-average proficiency. The answer became clear to him.

“Mother is my father,” Ryo smugly announced, a satisfied smirk appearing as it so often did at the end of a long train of thought.

“W-What?” Vilem stuttered, looking gobsmacked. “How?”

“She just is.”

“That makes none sense!”

“Neither do you,” Ryo couldn’t help but sneer at the atrocious grammar, sniffing at the genuinely offended look on the young man’s face.

“W-Well you have a idiot!” Vilem snapped back, ears burning red.

“You _are_ an idiot,” the child corrected snidely, doing his best impression of his mother’s ‘don’t-question-me’ haughty look. Vilem flinched at being taught language by a child, but the blow was softened by the absolutely adorable look on the little brat’s face. He physically slapped himself to get his thoughts straight.

“Shut up,” the older man whined, shoulders inching up to reach his earlobes to hide his creeping flush. “Where do you live? Do you know how home to get? I should place you back to your…F-Father? Mother?” Neither title seemed appropriate after the confusing answer the kid had given. “…caretaker?”

Ryo hummed thoughtfully, glancing around him to observe his surroundings. The lunch rush was beginning to set in at a steady rate, people pouring into restaurants like rats thrashing together in a too-small cage. Harsh sunlight shone down on the temperate town like a spotlight on a stage, revealing to Ryo his exact location.

“I do not know,” Ryo imparted his knowledge upon the horrified man next to him. “Today is my first outing.”

“W-What?”

“Today is my first outing,” Ryo impatiently repeated, “Are you deaf?” The man was like a broken record, constantly repeating the same lines, identified only by their shared horrible pronunciation. Vilem was struck speechless, staring dumbly at the child next to him as if realizing his age for the first time.

“I-I’m a kidnapper,” Vilem whimpered, sounding oddly like he was near tears.

“What’s a ’kidnapper’?” Ryo asked, a curious light shining in his eyes, “Is it like a pedophile?”

“No!” Vilem wailed, immediately throwing himself several feet away from Ryo as if he was the carrier of an infectious disease. Ryo smiled at the man’s fear. His mother always told him that the weak would instinctively avoid the strong. She would be happy to learn that at least one such prey animal had learned to fear him, as the man rightfully should. It was good for the man that he finally realized his place in the world’s hierarchy.

Lost in egotistical thoughts as he was, Ryo didn’t see the man desperately smashing numbers into a disturbingly ancient looking mobile phone. It looked more like a giant radio, with a hideous antenna wobbling on the top. Even if he missed Vilem pulling out the foreign object, Ryo certainly heard Vilem’s wailing.

“Sir!” he sobbed, “I’m a kidnapper!”

Ryo tuned in, immediately perking up and listening closely. He had abnormally good hearing in this life, almost on the edge of inhuman. Slightly odd, but Ryo wouldn’t question any blessings. It did mean, however, that he could pick up the smooth, baritone Italian responding from the other end of the line.

“What?” an extraordinarily cold voice sneered, staticky from the poor technology of the time.

“I accidentally kidnapped a baby!” Vilem babbled into the phone, “What do I do, sir?”

“How does one accidentally kidnap a child? Jesus Christ, I sent you to get coffee, you absolute fool, not a kid!”

“I fell on the baby and gave gelato for the young boy,” Vilem stumbled through the sentence. Ryo could almost hear the wheeze on the other end of the line from the agony of having to suffer through the awful sentence structure and barely legible words. Listening to Vilem was like trying to complete a particularly annoying logic puzzle.

“Oh my god,” Ryo heard the voice mutter, far from the receiver, before abruptly getting louder, “Stay still and calm down, idiot lackey. Where are you now?”

“B-By the gelato Luce brings many times,” Vilem sniffled, trying his best to follow orders. Ryo could appreciate that in a disciple. Obedience to superiors, judging by the ‘sirs’, was an admirable quality. Not many of the weak recognized their place, so it was refreshing to see in action. 

“I’m a bit far, near that Madonna cathedral on the hill,” the voice sighed, “I’ll see you in about twenty-five minutes. Don’t move, dumbass, or I’ll cut your feet off and hang you by the stumps.” With that abrupt threat, the line went dead. Vilem stared at the receiver in muted horror, taking the order to heart and literally freezing in place.

“Well trained,” Ryo admired. That seemed to break the trance, and the man jumped.

“Shut up!” he choked out in humiliation. It wasn’t very threatening coming from a sobbing man wearing purple clown makeup. Ryo simply smirked and waited in his spot, separate from the mash of bodies all around the wall.  


____  


True to his word, after what Ryo assumed was nearly half an hour, a tall man approached. He cut a sleek, dark figure in a black suit and fedora. _Legs for days…_ Ryo couldn’t help but admire. He missed his old pair, but currently was stuck with two wimpy stumps.

Ryo straightened at the approach of what was most definitely a member of the predator group. The stranger moved with feline grace, just like his mother, elegant with a dark promise of pain if they were bothered.

The incredibly handsome man came to a stop before Vilem, sharp gaze cutting into the stiff, youthful man before moving on to Ryo, now sitting precisely two meters away from his gelato companion. “Chaos. Is this the brat, idiot lackey?” the stranger asked without shifting his gaze. Ryo accepted the challenge and stared defiantly back, tilting his head in the subtly threatening way his mother so often employed. With a dangerous smirk, the man mimicked the move—but did it _better_. His fedora cast threatening shadows over the sharp edges of his face, highlighting the danger lurking in his eyes. Even Ryo couldn’t deny the envy he felt at the sight.

Ryo backed down from the larger predator with a huff, breaking eye contact and tilting his chin up in the same way he did for his mother. The man was evidently satisfied with the action and switched his piercing gaze to the ridiculous man in front of him.

“Yes, sir,” Vilem immediately responded, instinctively flinching back when the man raised his hand. The stranger smirked at the weakness displayed and adjusted his hat. “His name is Ryo.”

“Ryo,” the stranger hummed, changing targets once more. He gestured Ryo closer, and he obeyed promptly, hopping off the wall and trotting closer while leaving a respectful amount of space for the predator (truly, he couldn’t assign the dangerous man any other title). 

“Asian origin. Japanese, from the sound of the name. Approximately two to three and a half. Worn out clothes, but slight grass stains on the knees. Skinny and short for his age. Very pale skin.” He paused for a moment to process before coming to a conclusion. “I assume you live in a very poor area, although you aren’t homeless. You live somewhere small and heavily shadowed, but sunny enough for hardy plants to survive. Somewhere like an alley?”

The man very obviously spoke his thought process aloud in order to show off a little. A narcissistic man? Big ego and prideful at the very least. He walked with confidence, a nearly visible threat hanging about him, and clearly had fighting experience from liquid smooth movements. Pure-blooded Italian, or at least raised in the homeland. _Definitely not a man to trifle with_, Ryo decided and was promptly glad his mother had the money and not himself. It wouldn’t do to be caught stealing from a man with dangerous associates such as this. His mother was surely thinking the same, from wherever she was observing.

Ryo realized he had forgotten to answer, and the man was beginning to look a bit impatient. “Yeah! How’d ya know, _signore_?” he cheered with a hint of admiration, falling into more of a slum accent that had been picked up from the groups of rough looking men who often passed by Ryo’s courtyard. The man puffed up at the perceived compliment, and Ryo corrected himself with, _definitely narcissistic_.

“I am the World's Greatest,” the stranger scoffed. What an odd way to phrase something. “Now, let’s return you to your parents to avoid any trouble, yes?”  


____

It took several hours of Ryo falsely claiming an alley entrance looked familiar and them all searching through it before he eventually got bored. Finally, he cheerfully pointed out the true pathway to his home from Vilem’s shoulders. “It’s that one for sure, _signores_! Mine own alley has a broke pipe out front jus’ like this ‘un!”

The man who had finally introduced himself as Alessio scowled darkly at the kid, clearly disbelieving his claims after such a wild goose chase. “That’s what you said the last ten times, brat,” he snapped. With an aggravated huff, the ruffled man stomped (prowled) to the alleyway, hands twitching towards his waist in some sort of nervous tick. Maybe he had a knife? Riling up the two men was more amusing than pickpocketing had been. His once-victim gave an exhausted gasp, presumably from carrying Ryo around like the petulant child he was acting.

The two men were in luck because Ryo was ready for a nap. The day had been exhausting, but oddly freeing. A tight ball in his chest that Ryo hadn’t ever noticed had unwound during his adventure. Despite his utter disgust at the heavily populated town, it was relaxing to be able to wander where ever he so pointed so long as he lied with a silly smile on his face. It was the most fun he’d had since being born.

After a few minutes of walking, Ryo kicked Vilem in the neck to let him know he wanted down. The man wheezed but obediently bent down so that the boy could climb off on his own. Ryo patted the stupidly-soft hair in appreciation—such a dumb puppy—before trotting over to a nearly invisible gap in the wall that led to a rickety wrought iron gate. He heard the men follow behind but didn’t especially give any mind. His mother would likely want to size them up, and they had already seen the entrance. Finding it in the labyrinth of Italia’s back streets again was another story, but the damage had already been done.

The gate creaked in a loud warning, and only opened part of the way. Ryo easily slipped through into the small, overgrown courtyard. The stray he often heard from beyond the gate had moved her three pups into a corner of the space at some point. Ryo didn’t approach but instead huffed an animalistic greeting on his way to the storeroom’s door. In the background, he listened to Alessio growl something at a struggling Vilem before the noise of a solid kick sounded out, then a body thumping into the ground with a yelp.

The men appeared a moment later, Vilem looking much more ruffled than he had only a few minutes ago, and Alessio settled into his skin. A definite sadist, then. Once the two appeared, Ryo pulled open the door and peered in. His mother was relaxing on a stool brand new to the room, but certainly not the world. The large knitting needles and yarn were certainly a never-before-seen sight.

Ryo didn’t react to the changes in the room, simply pushing the door the rest of the way open and scampering to his mother’s side. He brushed up beside her, something wild in him settling at the clean, familial touch after so long in the filthy public. “Mother,” he greeted softly, bowing his head slightly. Dust motes lit up from the faint sunlight danced through the air around his mother’s face as she stared at the strangers.

“Ryo,” she acknowledged, the fondness in her voice only audible to one trained in the art of listening. She didn’t glance away from the men, but she set down the beginnings of what appeared to be a blanket and ran her fingers through Ryo’s fine, dark hair. “And who might our guests be?”

“Chaos, _signorina_. I am Alessio,” the tall, dark man greeted with a charming smile when faced with the classic beauty. “This is Vilem. We seem to have occupied your son’s attentions for the day. Might we come in?” Vilem smiled, quietly and awkwardly, from his position partially hidden behind his partner’s shoulder, but it didn’t detract from the pure loudness of his existence.

Ryo’s mother seemed a tad displeased, but nodded in acceptance. “Apologies for the state of our home, _signores_,” she demurred, standing up to shut the door behind them, Ryo seemingly attached to her right hip, keeping his mother between him and any danger posed by the men. Manners seemingly ingrained into her began to act up and she gestured to the nearby pitcher on the floor. “Would you men care for any water to drink? I’m afraid it’s all we currently have.”

“No, thank you,” Alessio declined politely, “We wouldn’t want to trouble you and won’t be long.”

_He’s totally different from before_, Ryo thought, badly concealing his amusement. He received a sharp look from the man in question when his mother wasn’t looking, making him jump a bit in surprise. _C-Can he read minds?_ It was a disturbing thought, and the sinister smile Alessio gave him didn’t inspire any form of doubt. _How truly disturbing. A genuine monster is in my home._ His fingers curled tightly into his mother’s long skirt.

“What seems to be the problem,” Ryo’s mother hummed, tangling her fingers in her son’s hair with a sharp tug to tell him to drop it. Of course she didn’t miss any of his and Alessio’s silent conversation, she had ESP just like the strange man and seemed to catch everything.

“Ah,” Alessio began, pretending like he hadn’t just engaged her son in a mental argument. “My companion seems to have accidentally commandeered your son’s day. He tripped over the young thing and is rather new to these parts. He bought your boy some gelato and contacted me, as I am native to Italia. We spent the rest of the day until now searching for the correct street. Apologies for any worry we might have caused you, _signorina_…?” He ended the explanation with a blatant fish for information, but kept the expectation from his expression with enviable ease.

Ryo’s mother seemed to deliberate for a moment, and even Ryo stared up at her. After all the time he had spent alive in this world, he had never gotten even a hint towards his mother’s name. “Call me Hibiki,” she decided, with no small amount of amusement, “Thank you for returning my son. I was getting rather worried and would have hated to create a large issue out of it.” Alessio quirked a single eyebrow, but smoothed it back into a charming, roguish smile.

“Of course, _signorina_ Hibiki,” Alessio purred, “We’d be grateful if you didn’t make a fuss over the whole incident. You have our apologies.” With that, he lashed backwards with his heel and slammed it into Vilem’s shin, causing the poor thing to double over into a mockery of a bow.

“V-Very sorry,” Vilem choked out. Alessio swept into his own bow, catching Hibiki’s hand in one of his own and pressing a kiss and _something else_ into it. If he hadn’t been so short, he wouldn’t be able to see into his mother’s palm. Ryo was curious at the flash of paper but kept his questions to himself.

“We’ll be on our way then. Goodbye _signorina_, Ryo,” Alessio smirked, dropping her hand and sweeping out the door.

“Sorry again,” Vilem whispered with his typical poor pronunciation that grated on Ryo’s ears. “Goodbye, Ryo, _Pani_!”

“Goodbye, _signores_,” Ryo smirked at their exit, “Come play again soon.”

Hibiki and Ryo stood together for several minutes until they were sure the men had left the gate and had begun down the alley before they moved. Ryo went to wash up his dirty face and hands while his mother returned to her new stool, knowing that she would not speak to him any longer without him taking care to act dignified. Dusty cheeks certainly were not dignified. 

When he was clean enough to pass muster, Ryo went to sit on the floor a meter away from Hibiki’s elegant form. She pulled out a wad of euros from beneath her shirt, separating a sizable amount of the overall stack. The rest disappeared once more. Hibiki spread out a total of €275 and showed it to her son.

“This is what you have earned the family today,” the matriarch announced, “You did well. One hundred euros were stolen from _signore_ Vilem, and the remaining one hundred and seventy-five euros have been paid as a bribe from our friend _signore_ Alessio. They are dangerous men. Do not approach them again until you are older and strong enough to flee should they turn on you.”

Ryo pursed his lips but did not argue. Hibiki was plenty strong herself, nigh invincible in his eyes, and if she said the men were too powerful for him, he was predisposed to agree with her. It wasn’t like he hadn’t observed it for himself. Anyone who possessed ESP was highly dangerous in Ryo’s excellent opinion. That alone made him wary of the tall man in black who had called himself Alessio, much like his mother who called herself Hibiki, and even the harmless-looking man who greeted Ryo as Vilem. Ryo lived in a world of liars, cheats, and criminals. It wasn’t shocking in the least for people to use fake names, it simply served as a lesson for anonymity.

All in all, his day had been rather excellent.  


____

After his initial adventure and a week of sleeping alone as punishment for going off on his own, Hibiki was much more willing to allow Ryo to wander beyond the gate. “It’s in our nature to drift about,” she had explained when Ryo questioned her lack of concern. She wanted him to learn the city well, and the people even better.

Ryo began trying to steal alone after his second week out in the town. He began small, slipping an apple under his shirt as he meandered past a fruit stall. Sharing the treat with his mother had earned him a genuine smile. The first time he tried to pull a bill note out a man’s pocket, he was taken by the wrist into a side street and beat for his trouble. His mother wasn’t concerned when he dragged himself home, simply smiled at his irritated pout and helped him wash himself up and wrap the more concerning injuries.

“Only this once,” Hibiki murmured when she wrapped Ryo’s wrist. “Watch and learn well. After this, you will treat your own injuries.” He accepted the lesson easily, as he always did. Hibiki was raising him harshly, he vaguely understood. She needed him to be able to stand on his own. It didn’t detract from the loyalty he had to her, nor the love he felt. A lifetime of relying entirely on one person tended to create that sort of unconditional bond.

He was not raised to quit, so Ryo continued teaching himself to steal. It was not nearly as easy as Hibiki would have led him to believe. He mimicked his mother the best he could, and sometimes succeeded, but it was much more common for his sticky fingers to harshly be smacked away and be lectured for several long minutes before he could slip away. The hard-eyed men and women would land a few blows to help the lesson stick, but it wasn’t long before he would return to the _Piazza del Duomo_, searching for easy targets.

Sometimes he would wander into the rowdy fish market in the mornings, drawn in by the sheer number of people. Ryo tried to steal a fish—one measly fish—and nearly had his hand removed by a stupidly big knife. He froze where he stood and carefully removed his curled, grubby fingers from inside the fish’s mouth. With a fearful glance upwards into the scowling stall owner’s face, Ryo darted away with a pounding heart and all ten fingers.

When he confided in his mother that evening, Hibiki simply laughed and told him to get better.  


____

It was a cloudy day when Ryo met the man. The summertime season was finally giving way to the cooler autumn temperatures. Climate-sensitive Italians began to wear light jackets, and it was common to spot the elderly _nonnos_ and _nonnas_ donning scarfs and jackets.__

Hibiki had knitted Ryo a scarf of his own. She had taken up knitting in order to painstakingly create a small blanket in preparation for the winter. Being a temperate climate, Catania did not often see freezing temperatures. However, the winter nights would begin drop below a comfortable level and make it impossible to sleep. The throw blanket wouldn’t look like much, but an extra layer often made a world of difference. After its completion, it was proudly laid on the top of the thin, straw stuffed mattress the two of them shared. Following the completion of her project, Hibiki simply hadn’t stopped with her new hobby and the scarf had come soon after.

Ryo hadn’t expected the gift, and had been preparing himself to snatch a loosely wrapped one off a stranger’s neck in the crowds and make a run for it. The morning of his planned burglary, his mother stopped him at the door and pressed the scarf into his hands. It was itchy and purple and a little too big, but it smelled like Hibiki and home and Ryo loved it.

He had sprinted out the gate in high spirits, embarrassing fluffy feelings stuffing his throat and making him feel all sorts of clogged up. He wasn’t a fan. Ryo didn’t want to dirty his mother’s gift the day it was received, and instead of setting out to steal, Ryo simply wandered through the city. Catania was a large city, the second largest on the island of Sicily after Palermo. It was a beautiful town. The generations-old architecture gave a refined beauty to the city, stories wound up in every stone that formed the town’s buildings and roads.

Drifting through the alleys on autopilot inevitably brought Ryo to a smaller _piazza_ than the ones he typically stalked. Despite the size, Ryo swore there were no less people. It was almost as if the Italians sought out spaces to be packed in like sardines. Various food scents wafted tantalizingly through the air, mixing unpleasantly with the stench of human musk. While picking apart the scent profile, the smell of fresh bread alone was enough to make Ryo’s stomach growl.

He’d skipped breakfast due to their record-low food stores. Hibiki had spent a bit more money then she typically would have on yarn in order to keep the two of them from freezing. As a result, there simply wasn’t enough euros left to buy the typical supplies. Ryo let his mother eat first, seeing as she was the one who needed the most strength to bring home money and food. He tended to be rather useless in that venture, though not for lack of trying.

The crowd was as boisterous as usual; the Italian stereotype existed for a reason. Ryo observed from his spot crouched at the edge of the mass. The people looked like salmon during spawning season, thrashing together in large clumps trying to move upstream. Sharp gray eyes scanned the people milling about for the weak link. He hadn’t set out to steal, but clearly his feet had taken him here for a reason. Maybe it was fate. With the patience of the apex predator Hibiki was raising him to be, Ryo sat back on his haunches and waited. He didn’t know how long he sat there on his heels. Long enough for the people in the crowd to completely switch out with new ones. Long enough for the sun to rise high in the sky and beam down with aggressive cheer. _Too_ long.

Ryo scowled at the utter lack of idiotic prey. Who had startled them back into their dens? The people walking about all seemed to keep a hand on their wallets and a smile on their face. How truly aggravating. It would seem that the day would be one for risks.

Finally, his eyes settled on an older man who hobbled through the middle of the crowd. The target used a cane, due to a weakness somewhere in his right knee. He wore an eyepatch with a nasty, jagged scar peaking out on the same side. Despite the physical deficiencies, he walked with a purpose that typically belied some level of strength. Ryo truly didn’t care. He was hungry and tired and his new scarf was already dirty. The man was half _blind_ for heaven’s sake, it wasn’t like he’d see Ryo coming.

____  


He totally saw him coming! Ryo’s mouth hung open as he stared at the ironclad grasp around his wrist that was only halfway to the fat lump in the target’s back pocket. “H-How did you,” Ryo trailed off, staring blankly at the man’s grizzly face.

"How did I what? See ya?” the man snorted, “Yer not anywhere near as subtle as ya’d like to believe, boy. I saw ya coming from a mile away.”

Ryo couldn’t help but cringe back. _How many people can use ESP?!_ he couldn’t help but think in despair. He wondered if it was somehow common in this world and he’d simply gotten the short end of the stick by being totally normal. If a weird old man like this one could see despite being blind, Ryo didn’t want to know what a strong, young predator with ESP could do. It sounded like the stuff of nightmares.

"What’s a young ‘un like you doin’ tryna’ to pick pockets? Asian through and through, too, don’t see too many of ya type here,” the elder hummed, looking genuinely curious while keeping a tight hold of the would-be thief. Ryo scowled at the question, shoulders bunching up to his ears while he ignored the way the man scanned him over. Mother had warned him of the perverts that sought after people with their ethnic look. He had no interest in being taken into the skin trade. “Now, that’s no way ta treat someone. Tell ya what, lightweight, I’ll get a meal in ya so long as ya answer my questions. Come on, kid.”

Without so much as waiting for an agreement, the man dragged Ryo along, brushing off the boy’s yelps and desperate kicks. The man shook Ryo by his scruff hard enough to make his eyes go blurry the second the younger landed a solid hit. He was dragged through the streets, locals smiling at the amusing scene of a grumpy _nonno_ lecturing his naughty _nipote_.

It didn’t take long for the man to stop at a roughed up gardener’s shop. He kept Ryo pinned between his good knee and the glass door while he unlocked it, then tossed the boy inside and ambled after him. “You’re a filthy kidnapper!” Ryo spat at the man, rubbing the bruise on his forehead from smacking into one of the shelves laden with greenery.

“What are ya talkin’ about?” the man sneered back, “I’m just a sweet ol’ man who owns this here plant shop who’s gettin’ sum food into a street urchin out of the kindness of my heart.”

“Who would believe that?!” Ryo snarled, “You’re the devil!”

“In disguise,” he hummed in response, “Ya got sum spunk kid. Tell ya what, I’ve gotta deal fer ya, brat.”

Ryo quieted down, mulish scowl not moving an inch. He was well and truly trapped, the man between him and the only exit, unless he could find a window and slither through. Until an opportunity presented itself, he’d sit and listen. If the man tried touching him inappropriately, he’d loose a few _important_ appendages, ESP-user or not.

The man smirked at his silence, taking it as a victory. Ryo wanted to _gouge out his eyes_. “Yer pretty mangey,” the man began, “But ya gotta look to ya. I’ve gotta job fer ya, see here? I’ve been searchin’ fer a delivery boy these days, lots of important men been wantin’ some plants lately. Too many fer an ol’ man like me to be wanderin’ ‘round the city all day. My knees’ve been achin’.” Ryo shot the man an outright scathing look. As if he’d believe something as stupid as that. Who the hell paid to have plants delivered?

“It’s not an easy job,” the scarred man continued as if the entire job premise wasn’t a joke, “There’s no hazard pay or nothin’. Actually, there’s no pay. Ya’d just get ta keep any tips ya earn, and I’ll provide two meals a day on the ones ya work. Whaddaya say?” And there was the catch.

“You offer this to any random brat you kidnap off the street?” Ryo snapped back. 

“Only the cute ones,” the man gave a lecherous grin, “The _Carabinieri_ ‘ve been on m’ back lately, ‘nd my last brat was taken care of after hearin’ the wrong sorta conversation.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Ryo huffed, eyes flashing. Obviously the man was deep in something highly illegal if the military police were after him. In contrast, the plants taking up shelf space all around the shop looked perfectly normal.

“_Very_ dangerous,” the man agreed (assured?). It came out like a promise. “Perfect fer a cloudy brat like ya.”

Something in Ryo’s chest burned with the challenge. Pick pocketing was fine, but he was awful at it. He much preferred the head on approach, not any of the delicate hand movements and improv skills required of daylight thievery. This guy was suspicious, far past petty criminal levels, but Ryo couldn’t help but not pay any mind. Besides, he was starving and food was part of the deal. Desperation caused stupidity, but knowledge of that wouldn’t fill his stomach. “I’m in,” he purred, all sharp teeth and flashing eyes.

The man grinned back, vicious and dangerous, and Ryo couldn’t help but feel like he’d sold his soul to the devil. “Sounds good, brat. ’m Pierluigi. Come by every other day as early as possible. Knock on the door once and only once. Any more than that and I’ll break yer fingers. I’ll give ya breakfast an’ the day’s deliveries. Be done and back by lunch. I’ll feed ya again and ya can be off on yer way. 

“A couple of rules for ya: first, ya don’t hear nothin’. Any whispers ya catch wind of aren’t nothin’ to concern yerself with. Don’t try to eavesdrop. You’ll be taken care of quicker than ya can blink. Second, if yer even suspected of bein’ a rat, yer gone in a permanent sorta way. Thirdly, the only room yer allowed in here is this front one yer standing in. I’ll whip yer ass the second I catch ya snooping pas’ the back curtain. Fourth, any deliveries ya make, ya make at yer own risk. Give the item directly to the man who’s name I give ya, no matter what. Now, let’s getcha some food and then ya get outta here.”

Ryo hummed at the list of expectations, scowling at the word ‘rules’. He didn’t follow anyone’s orders (except Hibiki’s). On the other hand, he was clearly too weak to be able to pose a challenge to the man and rather wanted to keep his limbs and his life. The job seemed simple and straightforward, the way Ryo liked it. It helped that he could guess why Pierluigi wanted to hire him. He was young and innocent-looking enough to pass any further inspection from the _polica_ easily. After all, who’d question a little boy who was simply helping his poor, crippled _nonno_? Disgusting, but doable.

Pierluigi returned with napkin full of…prawns. They looked raw, too. Ryo cursed his stupidity for expecting any decent meals out of a man who sounded like he wanted to save the maximum amount of money. What a cheapskate. “Here ya go, kid,” Pierluigi sneered down at Ryo. “The harder ya work, the better food I’ll make for ya, _capisce_?"

“_Capisco_,” Ryo hissed bitterly, reaching up to take the napkin. Food was food in a world that left the weak behind. “Can I leave yet?”

“Go on, kid,” the older man replied, tapping his cane absently against the floor and grinning like a shark. “I'll see ya tomorrow bright an' early. If ya don’t show, I’ll find 'nd drag ya back myself and cut 'cha out a pretty little matching smile. We’ve gotta deal.”

“I’d like to see you try, old man,” Ryo spat right as he slipped out the door. Raucous laughter echoed after him. He'd kill the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i'm entering a highly saturated market with low demand... but i couldn't help myself. this little bastard demanded to be written. there's definitely mistakes despite me reading it over several times so if you see any please let me know! i love hearing feedback :))


	2. illaqueate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for extremely vague description of possible rape/prostitution forced by circumstance 
> 
> beginning at "'He picked a stupid one this time, didn’t he?'" and ending at 'Ryo had never hated Catania more.'!!
> 
> illaqueate: to ensnare

“Mother?” Ryo called as he slipped through the storehouse door. He’d wandered through the city for the remainder of the day, crunching on the raw seafood that had been given to him. Just as Ryo suspected it had been disgusting, but he couldn’t begrudge free food. Anything at all felt heavenly on an empty stomach.

The sun was blessing them with a few last rays of light, burnt orange and fading fast. They illuminated his mother’s form, which stood tall and immobile in the middle of the room. Her lips were pressed together in displeasure, but her brow remained unwrinkled. “You’ve gotten involved in something unpleasant,” Hibiki stated. Cringing at her open irritation, Ryo nodded helplessly.

“Apologies, Mother,” he began, “The man didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

Her answering curled lip told Ryo precisely what she thought about _that_. “You wouldn’t fall for such a foolish trap. I have taught my son better than that,” Hibiki hummed, a single brow raising to prompt him.

Pouting, Ryo kicked at the ground. “It sounded more exciting than what I’d been doing,” he huffed, scowling at his feet.

“Look me in the eyes, Ryo,” his mother commanded. Instinctively, Ryo obeyed. Throat tightening at the anger he saw, Ryo immediately wished he could look away. Typically, Hibiki hid her anger. The fact that he was seeing it now sent shivers down his spine as he desperately wished to turn back time. “You’ve gotten involved with a dangerous man. This will bring attention down on both of us, eyes we need to avoid. However, the _signore_ already has you in his sights. Carry out your end of the deal, but be cautious. You’ve dug your grave, now lie in it.”

Her part finished, Hibiki glided past Ryo’s still form and out of the door. Distantly, he heard the gate creak as his mother slipped through. She had never left home so late and Ryo’s heart clenched at the thought that she was leaving him. Wide eyes turned to gaze out of the open door into the dusk of the courtyard.

The chill in the air had began to kill off the weeds and hardy grass that sprung up from between the cobblestone. The mother dog had decided to den in the far corner, puppies curled into her with milk-fat stomachs. Distant racket from the main streets echoed through the alleys and sounded like eerie gibberish from where Ryo stood. The sunlight had faded quickly behind the tall walls that surrounded their home, leaving the courtyard still in cold, purple light.

Ryo curled his fingers into his scarf and tried not to cry.

_____

He felt rather than heard his mother enter the store room. Curled up in the corner and shivering, Ryo slipped in and out of sleep. Warm breath hit his forehead in a fond exhale and his mother’s small hand caressed his cheek to wipe away the tears there. “Such a silly boy,” Ryo heard her murmur.

Strong arms wrapped around his shivering body and pulled him close. Soon, he was placed under the blankets with his mother quickly following. His scarf was pulled up to cover his ears and head before the blankets were tugged over him. Comforted by the warmth of his mother and the familiar scent of hay, Ryo sleepily curled into his mother’s stomach and wrapped his fingers in her shirt.

“I’ll protect you, _Cucciolo_.”

Wrapped up as he was in dozing off, Ryo barely heard the words. He burned them into his heart, nonetheless.

_____

In her left hand, Hibiki held a collapsable baton. In the right hung a switchblade, still sheathed.

Early morning light set her steely gray eyes ablaze. “Ryo,” she greeted from the doorway, holding out the switchblade. “This is an automatic Italian stiletto flick knife, eleven inches. The blade exits from this side when you press this button.” She demonstrated the motion with deft movements. 

Ryo stared up at her from the mattress, hair mussed and eyes bleary. It was far too early for such an endeavor. Even with his sleep addled mind, he was surprised by how quick the blade swung out. If he had blinked, he would have missed it. Hibiki twisted the knife around so that he would be able to see it in its entirety. “It’s made in the dagger style. This will be your primary weapon for the foreseeable future with this as a backup.”

Hibiki shut the knife a bit slower to allow her son to observe where to press and how to handle the knife. She tossed Ryo the weapon, pausing for a moment to allow him to feel and take in the weapon’s weight. After a few seconds passed, she held out a baton to catch his attention. “This is an expandable ASP baton, twenty-one inches and lightweight. It isn’t like the solid wood baton many _policia_ have used in the past. It will take more hits to down an opponent.” With a flick of her wrist, Hibiki extended the baton.

“Primarily, this can be used defensively and non-lethally. Aim for pressure points on the calves and thighs until you grow. The groin will send any man to the ground easily enough. If you are left with no option and are able to reach, the baton can be used lethally on the nose, throat, temple, and with enough force, the spinal column.”

With deft movements, Hibiki flicked the baton in the air towards an imaginary opponent. After the demonstration, she slammed the baton on the wall to collapse it once more. Walking forward, Hibiki flipped it around and offered the butt end to her son. Ryo took it in his free hand, scowling at how his hands struggled to firmly grasp the baton. The shape of the switchblade allowed for an easier grip, but nonetheless would require a tight hold.

“If you are to be working for that man, you must be prepared to defend yourself in the event something happens. You are to create an opening and escape. Hide yourself well so that I may take care of the issue without worrying about you,” Hibiki looked irritated at the thought of perceived danger towards her son, jaw twitching as she ground her teeth together.

“Yes, mother,” Ryo responded, a bit overcome by her defensiveness. He leaned into the warm hand that cupped his cheek and smiled softly at the woman who loved him so deeply. In a private corner of his heart, Ryo decided that he would never leave her. Her, this wonderful mother who protected and guarded him against a world that was set out to do them harm. Her, the woman who worked to bring food to them both and ensure he grew up strong and independent.

In his former life, he had been alone. Always, always alone. A silent apartment aside from the television that quietly informed Ryo of the reality of nature took up what little memories he held. He supposed it didn’t matter anymore. Hibiki was with him, and her nearly unbearable heat would keep the chill of loneliness away.

_____

The morning air was cool, dancing along his bare arms and exposed calves. With a shiver, Ryo tugged the lavender colored scarf a bit tighter around his neck as he walked. His clothes would be better suited for the autumn days when the temperature rose to normal levels. Dawn and dusk had chilled to below comfortable levels, but Ryo knew that he would appreciate the lightweight clothes when he ran around the city.

He didn't totally remember the directions to the garden shop, but it was easy enough to retrace their steps once he made it to the _Pescheria_. Even in the early morning Catania natives crowded about, excited for the day's fresh catches. Dodging the crowd, Ryo wandered down familiar looking side streets. The cobblestone was uneven no matter where he went, and Ryo managed a bit of sympathetic amusement towards the idiots who tripped while not paying attention to their feet. He couldn't help but tense up the closer he got to the garden shop. The old man had managed to stomp on every button Ryo had and laughed at him for the trouble.

Stopping outside the door, Ryo kicked the door viciously (and only once) to release a bit of petty anger. While he waited, he shut his eyes and soothed himself with fantasy enactments of ripping Pierluigi's throat out with his teeth. Time slowly passed. Cracking an eye open after several minutes, Ryo scowled at the door and debated. The man had ordered him to only knock once, but clearly the aging man was deaf and hadn’t heard. On the other hand, it could all be a test.

Was the man challenging him? Did he want to see if Ryo had a strong enough will? Or was this just another way to mock him and see if he was a good little obedient dog? The last option had a snarl rising in his throat, pride hurt by the fictional slight against him.

Regardless, Hibiki had taught him obedience towards strength. Lip curled and teeth bared, Ryo crouched down in front of the door and waited. And waited. And _waited_. Eventually, exhaustion from the early morning wakeup had Ryo’s head nodding. Forehead resting on his knees, Ryo drifted.

A door slamming open had Ryo snarling awake, gnashing his teeth in a threat and reaching for his shiny, sharp new toy. Pierluigi’s hideous visage sneered down at the boy, quite unimpressed with the display. A giant hand grabbed Ryo by the scruff and dragged him in, ignoring the wild growls and thrashing limbs.

“What’s this?” he cackled while shaking the boy roughly to keep him still. “A stupid lil stray puppy on my doorstep?”

“I’ll _kill_ you!” Ryo promised darkly, childish hands holding his shirt collar away to keep from choking. “I swear it on Saint Agatha herself!”

“Ah, ah,” Pierluigi chided mockingly, “Dun’ be so violent, kid. Ya got lots to live fer outside ah being in th’ slammer.” With that the man dropped Ryo and roughly boxed the boy on the back of the head when he walked past. Ryo grit his teeth and held back the infuriated howl. 

The man disappeared in the back with an ugly laugh. “Ya gotta fun day aheadda ya, boy. Firs’ delivery ta a man by th’ name ah Nicarete Migliore. He works fer tha Scomparsa—a real nasty piece ah work. You’ll know em by tha hideous scar tha makes his ugly fuckin’ grin look abouts ten times bigger.”

Pierluigi made a reappearance with a bunched up napkin and a good sized rubber plant. It looked freshly potted, rich earth obviously newly overturned in the pot. He set the plant on the ground next to Ryo and handed the boy the napkin. It held an unpeeled boiled egg and writing on the napkin itself.

Ryo scowled up at the man, eyebrow cocking in a silent ‘_really?_’ with a pointed look at Pierluigi’s own facial scar. The man grinned back. It barely qualified as a smile for all the happiness it conveyed. Taking the assumed ‘fuck off’ in hand, Ryo hurriedly peeled the egg and quite purposefully dropped the shell on the ground in front of him.

The egg itself was taken care of in three bites and sat comfortably in his empty stomach. Breakfast out of the way, Ryo scowled down at the napkin. “What’s this?” he asked the elder, who had moved to sit behind the cash register and was writing in what looked to be a log of some sort. Pierluigi glanced up at the napkin waving around, then back to his notebook.

“Directions,” he grunted, clearly done with the conversation. Ryo stared blankly at the man who didn’t so much as look up again. With a frown, Ryo wrapped his arms around the pot and hefted it up. He supposed it was good he was tall for his age, and much stronger than many children. 

Plant cradled in his arms, Ryo quickly realized a problem. He was far too short to see over the plant. Jaw twitching in irritation, he returned the rubber plant to its rightful place on the ground and scowled wordlessly at Pierluigi. Minutes passed in silence, Ryo’s expression gaining more bloodlust the longer the man refused to acknowledge him. Of course, he had already entered the challenge and refused to be bested by the old bastard.

With a heavy sigh and eyes cast heavenward, Pierluigi gave in. “My God,” he muttered before sneering down at the brat. “Th’ hell ya still doin’ here, brat?” Ryo sniffed delicately at the man and jerked his chin at the plant. “Use yer fuckin’ words! Are ya a damn animal? Th’ hell do ya want?”

Refusing to speak, Ryo glared harder and once again gestured to the plant. Pierluigi’s expression grew haughty. Knowing the next words out of the man’s mouth would be worthy of murder, Ryo clenched his fists and preemptively bit his tongue. “What?” he cooed out sugary sweet. “Is th’ wittle baby too weak ta carry one lil plant? Or,” the man paused to let out an overdramatic gasp, “Don’t tell me! Do ya needa cushion ta see over tha measly lil rubber plant?”

Teeth clenched hard enough to grind, Ryo let out a muffled, wordless shriek of pure fury. Violence clouded his thoughts and sight, and Ryo swore he could taste blood. He prayed it was the old man’s. When he could see past his bloodlust, Ryo was pinned under a knee while the man cackled over him.

“Too easy,” Pierluigi sniggered, hand firmly on the boy’s scruff. “Ya certainly got tha temper, don’t ya? Stay down and I’ll get ya a cart.” With a final warning shove into the cold cement, the man clambered up with the help of the counter and disappeared from Ryo’s sight. Spitting mad, he lay still on the ground and waited for permission to rise. As much as he wanted to kill the man, Ryo could feel the promise of punishment lurking behind the man’s humungous hands.

Hardly a minute passed before Pierluigi returned with an aged wagon that had seen better days. The front left wheel screeched with every rotation and both back wheels were stubborn when it came to turning. “This here beauty’ll getcha far, huh?” the man laughed, “Get onto yer feet ‘nd load ‘er up, brat.”

Ryo sneered when he rose and trotted over, easily lifting the dumb plant onto the cart. The napkin was crumpled on the floor, so he snatched it up and stuck it in his pocket. Pierluigi stuffed a hat on the boy’s head without warning. With a yelp, Ryo jumped back and ripped it off to study it.

A hideous shade of green that Ryo just knew would clash horribly with his coloring. The logo was tacky and, frankly, disgustingly cute. ‘Pierluigi’s Garden Shop: A Plant for Every Occasion’ read bubbly font surrounded by sunflowers and daisies. Horrified, Ryo stared up at his employer; every atom of Ryo’s being demanded that the hat was to be _burned_. “Welcome to the team, kid,” Pierluigi cackled.

“What team?” Ryo couldn’t help but croak with no small amount of bitterness. “There’s only me and you.”

When the man swatted out at the boy, Ryo danced away. Snatching the handle of the wagon up as he went, Ryo jammed the too-big hat over his head. Out the door he trotted, wagon screeching along behind. Pausing at the street corner, Ryo removed the bunched up napkin from his pocket. Straightening it out, he squinted. No matter the angle, the writing on the napkin remained gibberish.

“Directions,” Ryo mocked in a high-pitched voice, flaring his nostrils in poor imitation. “If only I knew how to write _legibly_!”

Deeming them useless, Ryo stuffed the napkin back into his pocket. He supposed he would find this ‘Nicarete Migliore’ on his own. Hibiki taught him independence, after all.

_____

For all that Catania, Sicily, was a cesspool of unemployment, governmental corruption, facism, and ever-present organized crime, it was shocking difficult to locate members of the latter. Supposed _mafioso_ Nicarete Migliore was nowhere to be found, and noon was fast approaching.

Exhausted from wandering for hours on end, Ryo squatted down in the shade of a building surrounding a small _piazza_. His legs ached from walking and his arms burned from pulling. Pierluigi’s egg did not last long in the Catania streets under the force of a child’s metabolism. The _nonno_ sitting in a folding chair near Ryo glanced over in concern when he whined into his hands.

“Ah! _Passerotto_,” the elderly man called out. When Ryo didn’t respond, he whistled sharply. A mean glare and bared teeth was the boy’s only response. “Bad tempered birdie, eh? What’re you doing in the street dust, there?”

Debating the value of speaking to a stranger, Ryo quietly chewed on his lips. The past few months had been full of more social interaction than he had ever had to deal with since birth. It was all a bit overwhelming, and Ryo found himself lost in the face of a conversation lacking in aggression. Even without actual practice, Hibiki had drilled manners into him. Of course, Ryo tended to ignore them outside of their home, but he was perfectly capable of politeness.

“_Buongiorno, signore_. I’m supposed to be delivering this,” he finally answered his elder, jerking a thumb at the now bedraggled rubber plant. Ryo didn’t know what he had done to it, but the plant had begun wilting extraordinarily fast after leaving the shop.

“A gardening shop, huh? Must be a family business,” the Sicilian man grunted, having read the boy’s hat. “Who’re you looking for? I may be an old man now, but back in my day I knew of every man, woman, and child in Catalina! I’m sure I’ve at least heard of your customer.”

“…Yeah,” Ryo doubtfully agreed, casting a dubious stare at the man’s trembling hands. It certainly didn’t look like the body of a man who had once specialized in information. However, Pierluigi had taught him that appearances could be deceiving. A frail appearance did not mean someone was prey. Reassessing, Ryo dug the napkin from his pocket and passed it over to the man. “Can you read this to me?”

Squinting, the man hemmed and hawed as he read the directions. After a moment, he paused and widened his eyes. “Are you sure this is where you’re meant to go?” the elder questioned, pitch a bit higher than it had been previously.

“Well, it’s what my _nonno_ gave me, so I suppose,” Ryo responded with a shrug and a tiny lie.

“Young man, this is an awful part of town. Your _nonno_ needs to be more aware of these things!” The old man had changed to looking concerned in the way only elderly people can when concerned about the younger generation. Leaning forward, the man’s shaking hands passed the directions back over.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Ryo sniffed with a touch of egoism. He reached underneath his shirt and pulled out the switchblade. With a sharp _thwap_, the full blade extended in all of its eleven inch glory. It almost comically big compared to Ryo, but a knife is a knife is a knife. Size aside, it would stab; that was all Ryo cared about.

“You’re a little young to start that kind of lifestyle, don’t you think?” The man looked disapproving, frowning delicately at where Ryo was crouched. Irritated, he bared his teeth at the man. If anything, the elder looked more disappointed than threatened after the display, even with the knife dangling from his fingers. “Never mind, that,” he sighed heavily, “I don’t know the business specifically, but it’s near the _Teatro Massimo Bellini_. If you wander the backstreets around there you should come across where you’re meant to be. _Signora Storta_, the directions say it’s called.” With a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his chair, accompanied by the noise of joints crackling like fire tinder.

“Is that it?” Ryo asked, shoving his blade in its sheathe and placing it back in its holster. Shoes scuffing against the ground as he stood, Ryo stared pointedly at the frowning man. The crowd had dispersed a bit, drawn into street-side restaurants to hide from the biting autumn chill.

“I suppose,” the _nonno_ grumbled, looking a bit put out. “You be careful, hear me? That part of town is no place for a young man like yourself.”

Holding back his instinctive snarl at being told what to do, Ryo bobbed his head a tad in understanding. “Thanks for the help,” the words spilled out, tumbling against each other in the picture of unwillingness to speak. Shoulders stiff, the boy grabbed his wagon handle and pulled it along as he hustled to the back alleys he was far more comfortable lurking in.

The sunlight made his skin crawl, harsh and cold as it was, and he longed to be away from people and talking as quickly as he could. The opera house wasn’t too far, perhaps a twenty minute trip if he jogged. He had passed by it a few times, but tended to stay away due to the crowds. While he liked to wander, Ryo wasn’t quite confident enough to go more than a few miles away from home at a time.

He knew Hibiki followed him, or at least had someone who did. Likely the former, Ryo knew she wasn’t keen on people knowing he was her son. The reasons were unknown to him, but her hands-off parenting methods had prepared him well for a life of independence. It got a bit lonely, which most of him preferred, but part of him longed to curl up in his mother’s lap and listen to her heart beat for hours on end. He supposed that death had left more of a mark on him than he would like to admit. The physical reminder of life soothed that feral animal that lived in his gut, quieted the voice that whispered for violence and allowed him to simply be.

Lost in thoughts as he was, Ryo blinked in surprise when the opera house loomed over him. The _Teatro Massimo Bellini_, named after a famous Catalina native composer and baptized in the man’s lifework—Norma. Coincidentally, it also sat in the middle of Catalina’s nightlife. Clubs, bars, and gambling parlors made up the crooked side streets. Late night chill greeted the women and men who lurked on street corners, and organized crime prevailed.

Sicily was, simply put, a bit of a shit hole. Mafia ruled the island. Money could buy anything—politicians, jobs, shelter. Unfortunately, currency tended to stay in the hands of just a few powerful men. The rest of the population was left to rot in their own feces. Like too many rats in a tiny cage, they rolled and thrashed against one another as madness set in. Eventually, they would eat each other alive without even noticing.

Ducking through the shadows and avoiding eye contact (even at midday, Catalina’s streets were overrun crime), Ryo scanned the overhead signs for his target. He focused on the obnoxious screechy wheels of his wagon to ignore the horrible noises as he passed by a couple lying together on a ratty, filthy mattress.

It took several minutes of wandering before he saw the sign. It was a disgusting, rotted thing. Termites had clearly made their home within the sign, the wood falling apart despite many attempts at repairs. Quietly, hat tucked low over his face, Ryo crossed the street to knock on the front door. A long moment passed before the door screeched open and revealed the largest man Ryo had even seen.

Bulbous, lumpy fat strained the man’s too-small, white, collared shirt. Tacky gold chains peeked out of the man’s unbuttoned collar, matched in stereotype by clumpy, greased back hair, black as the night sky. Ryo couldn’t help but stare. The man had to be over forty, yet was still desperately attempting to live in the confines of his Sicilian youth.

“Whaddaya want, kid?” he rasped, voice on the wrong end of a pack of cigarettes and guttural in that charming, chainsmoker sort of way.

“Delivery,” Ryo sniffed, gesturing at his hat and then the rubber plant happily waving along on the wagon. “I’m looking for a _Signore_ Nicarete Migliore?”

The man seemed to do a double-take, squinting as he appraised the clearly young child before him. “Eh, whatever,” he shrugged, “Not my issue. Come on in, kid, the boss is upstairs.” With that, the man spun on his heel (oddly athletic for the fattest man Ryo had ever seen) and disappeared into the business.

Ryo followed, pushing the door open with his foot and tugging the wagon in after him. It would just get stolen if he left it outside and he didn’t feel like being harassed by Pierluigi again later that day. The door slammed shut after him. While Ryo parked the wagon by the door, the fat man locked the door and sat down in the chair next to it. Ryo studiously ignored the gun sitting cheerfully on the side table next to the chair.

“Stairs are over there,” the man pointed at a door behind the bar counter before picking up the _Playboy_ magazine waiting for him.

Quietly, Ryo lifted the plant and staggered blindly across the room. Ears burning and swallowing his snarling at the sniggering he heard every time he bumped into a chair, Ryo made it. Juggling the plant between his hands, he managed to swing the door open and made his ascent. Another door waited for him, voices and unidentifiable noises coming from behind. This time, Ryo knocked and waited.

The pause while Ryo waited to be answered was significantly longer than the one downstairs. He figured the men were getting in order at the unexpected interruption. This door didn’t squeak when it creeped open, but Ryo could tell it had when the disturbance of air hit the plant.

He heard a loud snort, then metallic shuffling. “Boss, there’s a plant at the door,” a bland voice mused.

“Plant? I guess that bastard got around to delivering. Let it in.”

Large hands wrapped around the pot and tried to lift it. With a furious scowl and a vicious growl, Ryo wrapped him arms around it tighter. He was meant to give it only to the one who placed the order, after all. A lapse of silence, then a face leaned over the plant to peer to the other side.

This man was handsome. A bit rugged with apathetic, dead eyes, but the scar ripping across his jaw added a sense of strength and power. The man quirked an eyebrow at the grumpy kid waiting on the other side, but amusement lingered in the curl of his smirk. With hardly any effort, and ignoring Ryo’s offended hiss, the man continued lifting the plant, Ryo stubbornly attached.

“Boss, the plant comes with a bonus kid,” the man hummed, spinning around and bringing the plant-boy duo through the threshold.

“Let _go_!” Ryo hissed, “Unless you’re _Signore_ Migliore, you can’t have it!”

“Relax!” The man chuckled, the noise a bit distorted and twisted. After a few steps, Ryo was dropped. Not expecting the weight of a falling rubber plant, Ryo huffed in surprise as he tipped forward. The pot landed heavily on the wood floors, clearly filthy and in need of a scrubbing. Trying to play it off, Ryo stood straight-backed and stepped out from behind the plant.

The man who Ryo assumed was the aforementioned ‘Boss’ lounged before Ryo on a sturdy looking chair. The man was clearly aged, pepper grey taking over most of the brunette. It was combed back, displaying the man’s receding hairline and cold, beady eyes. He looked a bit like a skeleton, the angles of his face oddly sharp and eyes sunk deep into their sockets. True to Pierluigi’s word, a thick scar ripped the man’s face from the left corner of his mouth to his temple, distorting where the mouth began and ended. It was disturbing. Halfway in the grave, Ryo supposed, and likely on his way to hell.

“You _Signore_ Migliore?” Ryo queried, ready to be out of the pit of dangerous men and guns.

“Is the sky blue?” the man scoffed in response; “Of course. You Pierluigi’s newest bratling?”

“Is the grass green?” Ryo couldn’t help but sneer mockingly.

“Watch yourself, boy,” the handsome man behind Ryo warned. “We’d hate to retire the newest delivery boy so soon.”

Mouth snapping shut and seething at the threat, Ryo nodded sharply. “Here’s the plant. He didn’t actually give me any directions for care, but I guess just keep it watered and in sunlight.” Migliore seemed to stare unbelievably at Ryo, before laughing coldly.

“He picked a stupid one this time, didn’t he?” he drawled. “Sounds good, kid, here’s your tip.”

Migliore nodded at someone behind Ryo and a hand on the boy’s shoulder attempted to turn him around. Snarling in offense and skin crawling at the too-familiar touch, Ryo jumped back a few paces and turned himself halfway to keep Migliore in his field of vision. The handsome man from before was leaned against the wall, looking vaguely approving. The man who had touched him stood there with a scowl, pants halfway down his thighs and totally exposed.

Revolted, Ryo kept his eyes above the man’s waist and looked at the part of the room he hadn’t seen. What greeted him sent his heart into his throat. A women was held against the wall, eyes distant and full of a bone-deep exhaustion. The man holding her there was still, clearly stuck waiting due to Ryo’s interruption. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to rip the men’s throats out. He wanted—

Ryo grit his teeth together so hard his jaw ached, angry whine leaving his throat as he tried to pull back his bloodlust. The pigs in the room around him looked a bit spooked at the feral noise leaving the boy as he attempted to keep himself from pulling out his new toys. Forcing logic through his mind, Ryo breathed and processed. The woman was a prostitute. It maybe wasn’t unwilling, but the woman was clearly driven to prostitution by external factors, not choice.

Ryo had never hated Catalina more.

Migliore was eyeing the boy with renewed interest, a curious gleam in his eyes. “I guess a young kid wouldn’t consider a peepshow proper payment. You want cash, huh? Money makes the world go ‘round, after all.”

Ryo bit his cheek hard enough to bleed when the man threw the cash on the dirty floor in front of his chair. The _filthy_ man wanted him to lower his head like a prey animal, sniveling and desperate for anything the powerful predators would deign them worthy of. Ryo wanted to tear the man’s head off.

He thought about storming out of the building, allowing his feral snarls to go unchecked as he left without the man’s dirty money before running to Pierluigi and quitting. Hibiki would help him, Ryo was sure. She would remove any obstacles above his skill level from a distance while still letting him learn and grow. It was a perfectly viable option.

Then he thought about his mother’s worn clothes and the way they hung off her too-thin frame. He remembered how her hands would occasionally shiver minutely with exhaustion, how she frowned when looking at the food stores when she thought he wasn’t watching. The way she time and time again came up with money when it seemed hopeless, how she had told him he needed to provide. He wanted to be worthy of her cuddles and warm looks, honey sweet and filling his heart with butterflies. To do so, Ryo needed to provide.

If he wanted to help, he needed to do what he could, even if that meant fitting a lid to that barrel affectionately labeled pride. For her, Ryo would choke down his ego and do what he could. When it came to picking pockets, he wasn’t worth more than a distraction. His fingers were too stubby, face too childish, legs too short. He couldn’t avoid attention like his mother, didn’t know how to blend into a crowd with all the skill of a chameleon. Unlike Hibiki, Ryo wasn’t strong enough to have a choice in his future. He liked the blunt and straightforward, and it was what he was good at.

This was blunt and straightforward. All he needed was to choke back his desire to kill, swallow down his pride, and force himself to pick up dirty, criminal money off of floors that were covered in substances Ryo didn’t want to think about. He would have to ignore the weak people being taken advantage of, because at this point he was one of them. The woman in the room with Ryo was physically pinned, but Ryo could feel chains bearing down on him as well. He was just as trapped, and his mother’s words and worries were beginning to make sense.

Ryo lived in a dangerous world. Catalina was overcome by corruption, organized crime, and chronic poverty. Education was hard to find and jobs even rarer. Ryo would have to take what he could get in a too-small cage filled with too many rats. It wasn’t ideal, but at least it wan’t madness. One day, Ryo swore, he would chew his way out of the cage and then systematically tear apart all of the people who were keen on leashing him.

So, his mind full of his mother and heart full of vengeance, Ryo stepped forward and relaxed his hands from the white fists they had been clenched in. Jaw twitching and muscles taut, Ryo bent his head before Migliore and pulled together the euros scattered on the ground. He was baring his throat now, but Ryo gleefully though about the future in which he’d grind the man’s hideous face into the ground beneath his boot and give the man a matching scar on the other side of his face. It’d be symmetrical, then.

Ryo knew he was meant to be a member of the illustrious legion of predators. The man sitting before him was a fake—a prey creature who had gotten a full head and decided to play pretend being strong. Ryo knew his future was to grow up to be like his mother, full of feline grace and abnormal strength. But now he saw that he wasn’t anywhere close to that version of himself, childish abilities no match for the pure physical advantage of being grown up.

Scraping together both the money and the dregs of his pride, Ryo reared his head back and stared at the man who had boldly challenged him. The man might not have understood what he had done, but Ryo had been raised by a woman who valued strength and purpose. Ryo had grown up in the world of subtle body language; he was well versed in speaking through gentle touches and meaningful stares. 

Migliore had challenged Ryo and, while he might have won the battle, the man certainly would not win the war. Ryo would slaughter him on the alter of his own strength—the sacrificial lamb to signify Ryo’s ascension into adulthood. Teeth bared and itching for blood, Ryo snarled wordlessly up at the man’s amused face and silently promised to destroy all that he was. _Nicarete Migliore_, Ryo thought, and seared the name into his soul with a blazing promise. 

Without another word, Ryo stood and began to walk away, fists full of cash and scraping at the bottom of his tolerance for people. As he walked out the door, he couldn’t help but glance at the woman and burned her into his memories as well. Her eyes weren’t so distant anymore, tracking Ryo as he walked through the room and filled with horrified tears. Ryo bit his tongue and gave her a curt nod as he drifted out the door.

The walk back to Pierluigi felt like he was walking through a dreamworld. The shade of the alleyways provided simple comfort to the boy, but he couldn’t help but pull the scarf up over his nose so that he could breathe in the scent of home and family. The tight knot in his throat eased a bit at the familiar smell, a Pavlovian response Ryo knew his mother had meticulously trained into him. It didn’t ease the comfort, if anything made him relax further. Hibiki would not have put so much effort into him had she thought he would perish without potential. He _would_ grow and he _would_ grow powerful and he _would_ provide. Ryo carved the promises into his heart alongside the still-aching memories from the filthy bar.

Pierluigi wasn’t there when Ryo entered, but his napkin waited for him on the floor (an unneeded, humiliating reminder). Wrapped inside were three plain, cold burger patties. Ryo couldn’t help but be disgusted by the man. Did he know what constituted a meal? He wasn’t concerned for the man’s wellbeing, but instead amazed by the old bastard’s tenacious ability to live, if this indeed was what he fed himself.

Eating two and wrapping the last up for Hibiki, Ryo began the arduous walk home.

_____

Hibiki returned home after Ryo and found herself greeted by a dozing boy and an aging piece of meat. Fondly gazing at her son, she rubbed his cheek gently to wake him. “Ryo,” she hummed, “If you nap too much you won’t be able to sleep through the night.”

With a bleary scowl (Hibiki’s expression softened at her son’s familiar grumpiness), Ryo squinted up at his mother. Recognition warmed his face considerably, and he couldn’t help but hurriedly lean forward to collapse into her lap, burying his face in her warm stomach.

“Mother,” he whispered into her clothing in warm greeting.

“How was your day?” Hibiki asked, as though she didn’t already know his every movement. Ryo scowled playfully up at her, rolling onto his back and digging through his pockets in the same movement.

“Here!” Ryo offered rather than answering, presenting Hibiki a fistful of euros. Her left eyebrow cocked and nose wrinkled in pleasure, one hand going to take the money and the other burying itself into her son’s unruly, black hair. Flipping through efficiently, Hibiki hummed and tucked the money into her socks.

“Good work,” she praised, both hands going to shift her son on top of her as she laid on the mattress. Ryo squirmed with pleasure on top of her, mimicking her considering hum. He was always more wild than her, taking far more after her brother in terms of outlook. Instinct and nearly animal feralness drove her boy, all without her brother’s learned ability of tranquility. 

Hibiki combed through her son’s hair as she considered the two of them. Ryo would likely turn out more wild than her brother, Ryo's blood seemed to sing with her mother's blood. Affection bloomed as she stared at her progeny, the reason she lived as quietly as possible in Catania. It would likely be useless, Ryo possessed too much bloodlust and hostility to live a civilian life. _But it will be his choice,_ Hibiki reminded herself quietly.

Protective possessiveness roared up her throat at the thought of her son being dragged into a lifestyle of violence against his will. It was unlikely, but Hibiki knew that if her son wished to live simply, she would throw her full weight behind his choice. She allowed herself to muse on her son’s possible futures. They stretched out before her, intangible and wispy in the way dreams are. A policeman, an office worker, an assassin, maybe even a café owner…Hibiki’s throat closed at her pictured grown-up boy.

Selfishly, she hugged him closer and wished he would stay little and obedient for forever. Holed up in a storeroom in Catania, content to cuddle up to her and remain by her side. Alas, it wasn’t in his nature—or her’s. Sooner or later, they would be forced out of their idyllic lifestyle, or Ryo’s instincts would force him out, or her own would push him for further independence.

Whatever came first.

With a bit of bitter nostalgia for the years Ryo had spent wrapped up close to her breast, Hibiki disobeyed her own advice and curled around her son to sleep.

_____

Ryo’s life continued on. Days passed, and so did Pierluigi’s jobs. Each work day essentially matched the previous ones, leaving Ryo restless and aggressive. He had snapped at Hibiki when she leaned in for a bite of his apple—of course, that hadn’t ended well for him. She cuffed him around the head and ate the rest of the apple in front of him while he whined for a bite.

It was an off day for him and, rather than wander as he was wont to do, Ryo had decided to spend the late October day dozing in the autumn chill. With his newfound salary Hibiki had managed to buy him a secondhand sweater in a pale gray to match his scarf. It looked a bit ridiculous, huge as it was, and matched with his loose shorts, but Hibiki had said he would grow into it. Regardless of ridiculous sizing, it made for a good blanket.

The stray dog had weaned her puppies and every single one of them was gone. It left Ryo feeling a little lonely, wishing he could listen to their snuffling and whines. The world continued on, it seemed, whether or not one was willing to follow along.

Boredom and a dull day lead Ryo back to his memories. It seemed forever ago that Hibiki had taught him to steal, sending him out to trip up the odd, clownish man. What had his name been? Something stupid and obviously fake. German sounding? William seemed similar, but not correct. Ryo supposed it didn’t matter, it was an alias after all.

William had been downright amusing, a prey animal who had been shown his place by his strong and ridiculously handsome friend, Alessio. Ryo laid on the stone and let himself wonder about them. He had put it out of his mind previously, but it still nudged at his thoughts occasionally. His mother had introduced herself as Hibiki, but when faced with liars was it not proper to return in kind?

Ryo admitted to slight jealousy. He had been raised by the woman and still didn’t know who she was. Certainly, she loved him, but all at once remained too distant for Ryo to reach.

As if thinking of her had made her appear, Hibiki slipped in through the gate, screeching hinges alerting Ryo. He remained lying down, cracking his eyes open only once a familiar warmth settled by his side. “What’s on your mind?” His mother hummed staring forward at the clouds drifting above.

Ryo allowed his gaze to match hers, eying the white cotton that floated unbound above them. He remained silent for a moment as he collected his thoughts, words aching to be as free as the clouds drifting through the sky. Holding them back, Ryo considered.

“Mother,” he began quietly, “Who are you?”

Hibiki was silent for so long that Ryo wondered if he had even spoken aloud. Then, slender fingers twisted painfully in his hair and pulled him close. Lips pressed flush to Ryo’s ear while she held him against his face. Ryo bit his cheek and tried not to wince.

“My name,” she whispered silent as death, the gravity in her words sending Ryo slamming straight into the earth, “Was given to me as Yun Fengmian.”

Hardly daring to breathe, Ryo refused to struggle in fear that it would break the spell binding the moment. Time seemed to freeze, clouds hanging motionless in the sky. His mother’s fingers held him together as if she sought to whisper straight into his soul.

“Your name,” at this Ryo felt even his heart slow, obeying the vicious grip seemed to hold over reality. He felt like a glass cup teetering at the edge of a table; only time would tell if he fell and shattered or was rescued and placed firmly on a surface once more, “Is meant to be Yun Feihong.”

His mother’s fingers uncurled, and Ryo slumped down on her shoulder breathless and feeling like pure electricity had been injected straight into his veins. Skin prickling as time returned to normal, Ryo stared wide-eyed up at his mother. She smiled blandly at her son, stroking his hair gently as if to apologize and staring back up at the clouds.

“People must call me Hibiki,” she hummed, “and you will remain Ryo.”

The cobblestone felt at once too hot and too cold, but Ryo resettled upon it and hummed in acknowledgement. In childish instinct, he curled his fingers in his mother’s shirt while they lay in the autumn sun, heart in his throat and newfound longing for freedom from shackles he hadn’t known existed five minutes previous.

_____

“You’re headin’ ta the Benedetti weddin’ party today, straight to Savino Benedetti himself. The _Cattedrale di Sant'Agata_. You’ll be takin’ them a full wagon t’day.”

Pierluigi looked a bit run down when Ryo slipped into the shop through the door the man had cracked open. The wagon had already been loaded and waited for him by the door. Surprised but not resentful (typically, the man liked to watch him struggle to see over the plants to laugh at him), Ryo accepted the napkin shoved into his hands and allowed himself to be pushed out the door, wagon soon following.

Ryo ignored the plants, peeking into the napkin and pleased at the still-steaming scrambled eggs waiting for him. He could see little bits of tomatoes mixed in and wasted no time shoveling it into his mouth. Tucking the scarf up around his face to ward off the cold, Ryo grabbed the wagon handle and headed off in the direction of the iconic cathedral.

Any Catanian worth their salt knew precisely how to get to the treasure of the city. It was child’s play to trot through the side streets of his home city, dodging the morning foot traffic and disgusting crowds. After all, the bubonic plague spread so easily in cities partly due to how packed the urban areas were. Ryo didn’t know what strangers had been touching.

Nearly half an hour after setting off, Ryo arrived at the massive cathedral. True to Pierluigi’s word, the Catholic Church was closed off from the public due to the event taking place that day. Slipping under the ropes, Ryo pulled his wagon up the handicap access and knocked on the open door.

Inside, a flurry of activity was whipping around before Ryo’s eyes. Suited men and women, clearly armed, lined the walls to keep careful watch over the wedding setup. The wedding had clearly cost an exorbitant amount of money. Much more money than what lined the pockets of Ryo’s entire street, combined. Curling his lip, Ryo knocked louder and waited to be noticed.

Within a few more seconds, a tall woman appeared before Ryo’s eyes and scowled down at him. “Off-limits, kid,” she snapped, slapping her hand against the sign posted on the door.

“I’m _delivering_,” Ryo sneered, gesturing at his hat and the wagon behind him.

The woman appeared to inspect him closely, oversized clothes and all, eyes widening a bit on the name plastered across his hat. As quickly as the surprise appeared, the woman pursed her lips in disapproval. “Very well,” she sighed, “The wagon can’t come through, it’s dirty, but we can help carry. Who’s your client?”

“_Signore_ Benedetti,” Ryo answered, eyeing the woman. It wasn’t often that he was faced with somebody competent and not a pure idiot. “I’ll know if anything goes missing,” he warned with a routine glare. A corner of her mouth quirked up in genuine amusement, nodding in agreement.

“Sure thing,” she allowed; “Oi! Antonio, get your lazy ass over here!”

A broad man stumbled over, muscles causing his suit fabric to be obscenely tight. “Ma’am?” he asked, voice a bit high in discomfort. Ryo thought for a moment that if he had been thirty years older and actually possessed functioning hormones, he would be extremely appreciative. The woman seemed to understand his thoughts (and was clearly disturbed by them, it was seemingly a child thinking them after all), and raised an eyebrow.

Ryo stared at her blankly before turning in an about-face and lifting up one of the thickly scented, flowering shrubs that towered over him.

“We’re delivering to the groom,” the woman announced without much explanation; “Grab a few.”

Content to let the boy run into pews, the suited pair lifted the remaining plants with an ease that left Ryo seething with envy. He fell into line behind them, following based on the sound of their footsteps rather than any ability to actually watch where he stepped.

Before long, they entered a side room that was dimly lit and full of quiet sobbing and awkward consolations. The woman and Antonio put their burdens down next to the door — an action Ryo quickly mimicked — before saluting the pair that were seated in front of a huge mirror. A beautiful woman in a dressing gown was seated on a stool, obviously having been crying into her hands before the interruption. In front of her, a man in a gentleman’s suit crouched, hands resting gently on her knees and looking bothered by their entrance.

“Do you…need something?” the young man asked, gaze darting between the woman and the odd trio.

“_Signore_ Benedetti?” Ryo asked, stepping forward a bit and decidedly ignoring the awkward situation he had walked into.

“Ah? Yes?” the newly identified man answered, standing up to address Ryo.

“Your delivery,” Ryo nodded at the flowers behind him. The man looked startled, then a bit flustered.

“Oh! I suppose I had ordered this. I didn’t know it was going to be delivered here, or really today. Pierluigi’s shop, right? Ah, you two can go.”

Ryo nodded stiffly in response as the man and woman departed with curt nods. Less words were better when faced with crying strangers.

“You’re kinda young for this, aren’t you?” Benedetti chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. He was charming in an uncommon sort of way, eyes vaguely narrow in a familiar almond shape and bone structure rather fragile for a man.

“Not really,” Ryo answered, kicking the ground and wishing he could be dismissed. The two of them started at each other for a bit long, both unsure of what the other wanted.

“You…need a tip, right?” the previously silent woman sniffed delicately, patting at her eyes carefully. Ryo shrugged, looking anywhere but at her face. “Oh, you poor thing.” She suddenly started laughing, the noise startling the man next to her and Ryo both.

The two of them stared at each other in a wild moment of pure connection between two men who had no idea what a woman was thinking. It was a primal sort of feeling, nonetheless one that drew Ryo instantly to the pair before him. “You come in here to do your job and are faced with all sorts of emotions.”

There was a smile on her face now, still teary but an improvement regardless. “Forgive my appearance, this wedding was a little unexpected on my end.” Benedetti winced next to her, sheepishly looking away at the subtle dig. “My name is Diana, what’s yours?”

“Um, Ryo,” he choked out, ears burning for some odd, unidentifiable reason.

“Thank you very much for ensuring my friend’s delivery arrived. It is greatly appreciated! You’ve done so amazing bringing this here all on your own,” Diana laughed, a light and feminine sound. Ryo felt his entire face burn, shoulders up to his ears while he stared at the floor. It was oddly demeaning to be praised as Diana was so freely doing, yet still pleasing to the young boy.

“Of course, it’s _me_ after all,” he couldn’t help but sniff boastfully, even while embarrassment made him feel like melting into the floor. Diana elbowed Benedetti sharply with a dagger-like smile to prompt him. Scowling (it was definitely a pout) pathetically, the man reached for his wallet.

Ryo left the room with a pocket full of more euros than he had seen at once in his life, a heart flying sky-high, and flushed from forehead to chest.

_____

Ryo shouldn’t have expected his good luck to last all day. Pierluigi wasn’t at his shop when Ryo went to return the wagon and eat, so Ryo left the wagon out front and tipped over all the flowerpots that lived outside. When he crept through the squeaky gate and into the storeroom, Hibiki was already home. With company.

Back ramrod straight from its previous slow descend into relaxation, Ryo edged around the long-haired man sitting across from his mother while, oddly enough, drinking tea. They didn’t even own a teapot.

Hibiki acknowledged him with a gentle hand tugging Ryo down to kneel next to her. The man intruding in their home was as red as a stop sign. The man’s crimson _cheongsam_ gleamed in the low candlelight of the storeroom, clearly expensive and well made. Even his teacup was a shade of red, painted smoothly over the ceramic.

A long braid fell over the man’s shoulder, black hair framing an oddly familiar face. Reddish-brown, feline eyes stared back at Ryo when he dared to look, clearly soaking Ryo in as much as Ryo attempted to do to the man. In response, Ryo bared his teeth and growled. Lips curled in dangerous approval, the man returned his gaze to Ryo’s mother.

“An excellent son,” he rumbled, Italian slightly curled around a Mandarin accent. “He has potential.”

Ryo refused to display happiness before an intruder, so he simply curled his fingers into his mother’s skirt and scowled. Hibiki smiled, all teeth and sharp promises, and let her eyes fall half-lidded. “Indeed,” she demurred, “He has grown well.” Ryo stared blankly at the two’s identical grins, then at the pair’s delicate facial structures, and finally at their coal black hair. Then he compared himself to them both.

“Mother,” he dared to speak, tensing at the dual predator gaze that fell upon him, appraising him. Hibiki didn’t fall into her more instinctual side often, but when she did, Ryo couldn’t help but wonder if she’d tear out his throat if he displayed weakness. “Who is this?”

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the man purred, all familial pride and danger and eerie familiarity, “My name is Yun Fengyong. It is so nice to finally meet you, nephew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol I didn't read over this at all, so sorry for any obvious screwups...it'll go back over it later, promise. midterms have been kicking my ass, but they're finally over so I'm back to the typical grind.
> 
> thank you all for the wonderful response! you're all the absolute best, so sorry for the unedited chapter. I figured getting it out on time would count for something. thank you all so much for reading!


	3. wampus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wampus: a strange, objectionable, or monstrous person or thing

Silence sat heavily in the room, resting like a thick blanket over Ryo’s shoulders while he considered the man’s words and compared all three of them. Certainly, the man looked as though he could be related to Ryo and his mother. Both Hibiki and Fengyong had sleek, coal black hair with a hint of wildness in the barely-there waves. Somehow, Ryo had managed to inherit oddly untamable hair that spiked and curled. Identical between Ryo and Hibiki were eyes the color of steel, hard and unyielding. Across from Ryo and Hibiki, Fengyong’s fiery eyes reflected back.

“Nephew?” Ryo asked cautiously, “Mother has not mentioned you.” Daring to be a bit contrary, he sniffed and tipped his nose a bit to the side.

Rough laughter tore out of Fengyong, masculine and controlled. Scowling defensively, Ryo grabbed onto Hibiki’s skirts tighter and hunched his shoulders up. Following, Hibiki delicately covered her mouth and chuckled along. The dual laughter sent tension running through Ryo’s shoulders. There wasn’t a single note of genuine mirth, just bitterness.

False amusement dying down, Fengyong raised his muddy red _gong-fu_ teacup to his lips for a small sip before setting the tea ware on the ground before him and folding his hands into his lap. “Your mother escaped even my notice. I’m sure she was extremely careful to not let even the smallest of details slip.”

Hibiki hummed next to Ryo, tangling her fingers in his hair at last and tugging to relax the boy. The defensive bristling settled with the touch, Ryo relaxing next to her. She hadn’t made any remarks to suggest the man was a danger, so Ryo obediently followed her lead.

“I thought hid well, but as you are sitting here before me, evidently not well enough,” she hummed, tone seeming to be considering, but Ryo heard the irritation. “Would you care to tell me why you are drawing considerable attention to us? As I am sure you know, these days you are far from slipping under the radar.”

The man hummed right back, hands retreating into his outrageously long sleeves. “Well, I suppose I missed you,” Fengyong gave a sly smile; “It’s been several years, after all. Is an elder brother not to visit his younger sister and meet his young nephew? He was never presented at birth.”

“Fengyun would be much more appreciative, I’m sure,” Hibiki replied, quite unamused. Her brow had raised, showing off how utterly unimpressed she was with her brother’s reasoning. “With the added benefit of not getting my son and I made examples of.”

“Fengyun will be getting a visit from me once I track her down,” Fengyong smiled genially, but his pinched expression similarly signaled irritation. “Her husband has shown to be quite adept at tucking her away.” 

“A tragedy, I’m sure,” came Ryo’s mother’s demur. “I must ask, what gave me away? Any leaks should be taken care of promptly.”

“It isn’t anything to be concerned about. A coworker of mine simply mentioned a woman and child who looked eerily like me slumming about in Catania. Is your vacation treating you well?”

“That hitman?” Hibiki asked sharply, body language coming alive, predatory and dangerously feline. In contrast, Fengyong remained relaxed and bland, though his eyes had picked up a touch of wildness. He hummed in agreement, easing back the deadly tension in Hibiki’s frame. “You’re a fool for trusting a man such as him.”

Ryo’s uncle frowned a bit, picking up his tea for another taste while the silence stretched. “I wouldn’t call it trust,” he finally admitted, “But Reborn knows better than to threaten one of mine.”

“And are we one of yours?” Hibiki asked, deceptively bland. 

Fengyong’s expression darkened a bit, familial possessiveness curling about in the man’s eyes. “Always,” he rumbled, the nearly feral growl searing against Ryo’s skin like a brand, warming him head to toe. A shiver ran up the boy’s spine, something dormant in him shuddering at the words. Hibiki glanced at her son from the corner of her eyes, amused smile dancing on her lips. A quick brush of her fingers had Ryo settling down again, the boy’s eyes falling half-lidded.

“Over the years after you both went into hiding, I established myself well enough to ensure that no one from the Triad would be comfortable going after any of mine. This holds true today. While Reborn isn’t…exactly normal, he’s far from outright cruel. I have found myself part of a,” here Fon paused, looking a bit embarrassed, “potential set.”

Dropping all pretenses of impassivity, Hibiki raised both her brows. Something like genuine shock played in her eyes, unsettling Ryo. His mother had never been easy to read, far from it. It had taken literal years from him to learn her micro-expressions and he still occasionally struggled. Ryo sat up straight rather than slumping on and nearly behind Hibiki. He scowled at his ‘uncle’ in a futile attempt of intimidation. In response, the man gave him a flustered smile that stretched from ear-to-ear.

“Have you?” Hibiki whispered, dropping her voice low; “Truly?” Ryo could have sworn he heard longing in her voice, but that couldn’t be right. His mother wasn’t that sort.

“It’s a possibility,” Fengyong coughed, partially covering his face with a sleeve and resting the newly freed hand in his lap. “At this point, we’ve been running group missions for a year. The one who leads us,” a careful glance at Ryo, “…her name is Luce, of the Giglio Nero.”

Schooling her expression into a genuine smile, Hibiki brushed a firm hand against Ryo’s leg to reprimand the hostility. “I’m glad for your good fortune, _gēge_.” A small hand squeezed Ryo’s thigh in a sharp prompt.

“Good fortune, _jiùjiu_,” Ryo bit out, bowing his head respectfully. His uncle made a pleased noise, a low thing rumbling from his broad chest and sending another wave of warmth through Ryo.

“_You speak your mother’s tongue, nephew?_” Fengyong asked him directly, eyes strangely fire-bright.

“_Of course,_” Ryo responded, somewhat testily. He couldn’t quite decide what to make of this odd uncle who appeared from nowhere and shattered his mother’s composure in just a few words. Plus, he was _encroaching_. Ryo’s skin couldn’t quite decide if his uncle felt like ants crawling over him or a comforting blanket of warmth.

Fengyong chuckled in amusement even as Hibiki smacked him sharply on the leg. “_Be respectful of your uncle_,” she reprimanded, “_He’s come across something our people spend their whole lives searching for._”

Somehow scowling harder, Ryo let go of his irritation with an obedient, “_Yes, mother._” Hunching up his shoulders, Ryo crowded up against his mother to soothe away the hurt of her displeasure while his uncle watched with an amused curl to his lips.

“_You’ve trained him rather well,_” he hummed, considering.

Hibiki huffed in amusement, shifting her position to something a little less formal. “_Not well enough,_” she admitted; “_The fool boy has gone and gotten mixed in with a bad sort._”

“_It’s not like I sought him out!_” Ryo couldn’t help but hiss, his traitorous voice sounding like a whine even to his own ears.

“_Oh?_” Fengyong couldn’t help but interject, long-limbed and feline all the way down to his interested purr. “_Is someone causing you both trouble?_” Ryo couldn’t help but admire the danger the man radiated not as a threat, but as a central part of his being. The man’s clothing was extremely modest, but when Ryo focused, he could see the faint lines of a man who’s life was devoted to fighting.

Glancing up at his mother, Ryo saw the sharp edges of pearl white teeth, beautiful even while twisted up in a snarl. “_Some fool dealer managed to chain my son down. Unfortunately, I can’t exactly pull him away without risking the attention of people I’d rather not deal with while Ryo remains close._” At the insinuation of being tied down, Ryo couldn’t help but gnash his teeth. Fengyong watched him rather fondly.

“_Shall I watch him while you deal with the trash?_” Fengyong sounded a bit gleeful at the prospect even as Ryo whipped his head around to stare wide-eyed and horrified at his mother.

“_You silly man,_” Hibiki chuckled, seemingly unable to keep up her possessive anger in the face of her brother’s mischief; “_This is what you’ve been aiming for all along._”

“_I’ve always wanted a student,_” Fengyong couldn’t help but admit sheepishly, looking like a boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Hibiki hummed, leaning back to rest on her hands and stare at the ceiling. Before she even spoke, Ryo knew her decision and felt a bit like crying.

“_One month,_” Hibiki decided, lowering her chin once more to stare into her older brother’s dark eyes. “_You may take my son away for a single month before I expect him back, promptly._” Fengyong smiled back, revealing the predator he truly was behind the mask of harmlessness.

“_Of course, younger sister,_” Fengyong demurred, sleeved hands covering his mouth as he tipped his head in genial agreement. “_Who am I to ignore your commands?_”

“You know full well who you are,” Hibiki snipped back, sharp teeth flashing in the low light as she switched back to speaking in Italian. “Ryo,” this she directed at the boy pressed up against her, “You will be leaving with your _jiùjiu_ while I make some rules clear to the fools in this city. Listen to him as you would to me.”

Ryo stared pitifully at his mother, betrayal crawling up his throat. How could she abandon him like this? The look on his face must have invoked some form of sympathy, because the corner of his mother’s lips quirked upward and she smoothed his hair. “It’s only a month, _Cucciolo_, it will be over before you know it. Do you wish to remain in that man’s employment?” Here she paused, staring in his eyes to sniff out any lies.

Ryo hesitated. On one hand, Pierluigi was a bastard that he genuinely wanted dead. Sometimes, Ryo’s bloodlust shocked even himself, never having felt so strongly in his previous life. It could be a bit scary, honestly speaking. He hated the man with ever fiber of his being; something about him just screamed _danger_ and _threat_ and _bound in chains_. Simultaneously, working for the man had provided a sense of purpose and direction that soothed the wild knot of instincts that sat low in his gut.

His delivery job wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t violent and he was often exposed to horrible people that Ryo knew weren’t on the supposedly righteous side of the law. Some of them were downright heinous, like the group of men Ryo had first delivered to. Nicarete Migliore. The name sat painfully in his mind, still burning fresh with fury and bitterness. The man had been trash the likes of which Ryo had previously been unable to imagine.

But…there were also people such as Savino Benedetti and his bride-to-be, likely wife by now, Diana. Sh- they had been kind. Genuinely, blatantly kind. Ryo had found himself swept away by the soft couple. In this world, he had not been previously exposed to people such as them; people who were upfront about their emotions and showed them without hesitation.

Ryo hated and Ryo loved. Time passed, and he grew. Delivering had exposed more to Ryo in just two months than the culmination of his first three years. One day, he would kill all of the people who had dismissed and disrespected him along the way, but Ryo found himself attached. It was _his_ job, and he would deal with it eventually as he saw fit. Even with the downsides, Ryo found himself enjoying wandering the city and feeling satisfied with a job well done at the end of each day.

“Yes, Mother,” Ryo finally admitted, glancing up cautiously through his eyelashes. He knew she hated his job. True to his thoughts, she looked displeased, but resigned. Nodding slowly, Hibiki stroked his cheek absentmindedly with a work-weary thumb.

“I suppose that is alright,” she murmured softly. “But allow me to go ahead and clear the way a bit. There are quite a few flies already buzzing around you.”

Ryo scowled and opened his mouth to argue. It was his job and he wanted to succeed on his own, _overcome_ on his own. “I’m not saying this to remove your independence,” Hibiki quickly cut him off, tilting her chin down a bit. “But you aren’t quite strong enough to handle these particular flies on your own. Your uncle’s appearance has simply ensured that they will become much, much more annoying. Let your _mǔqīn_ handle this until you’re strong enough.”

Shutting his mouth in acceptance, Ryo pouted, but knew Hibiki was correct. She always was. “Of course, Mother,” he dipped his chin in acknowledgement, glaring at his uncle when the man chuckled.

“You truly do have him handled, don’t you,” Fengyong laughed softly when matching silver eyes glanced coldly at him. Hibiki allowed herself to smile slyly.

“But of course,” she purred, “I had myself and Fengyun to learn from. Our type is notoriously fickle.”

“Believe me,” Ryo could have sworn his uncle’s eyes flashed blood red, “I’ve borne witness.”

_____

The next morning found Ryo seated in a train car, traveling to who-knows-where with his uncle. Tension wracked through his muscles, skin prickling painfully as he stared in mindless horror at the claustrophobic space packed tight with passengers. After realizing where exactly Fengyong was taking him, Ryo had attempted to sprint off into an alleyway. There was an approximately zero percent chance that he would spend any significant amount of time trapped in a filthy death machine filled with a countless number of weak, diseased creatures.

Of course, that became a one-hundred percent chance when Fengyong grabbed him by the scruff and raised him up with _evidently no effort whatsoever_. The working theory was that Ryo had been born into a world of monsters and _he_ was the abnormal one for not being outrageously strong. The likelihood of it being true had grown exponentially more convincing when he had been carried at arms-length the rest of the way to the train station, thrashing and snarling like a wild animal.

Hibiki had looked incredibly unimpressed with Ryo’s reaction, staring blandly at the scene he was making while trying to pretend she wasn’t with the noisy, odd pair. Even the threat of his mother’s displeasure did nothing to quell Ryo’s panic when faced with the threat of a crowd he couldn’t escape from.

Hibiki had pet his head goodbye while he wailed threats to the obscenely strong man holding him back from escaping and wished him good fortune before disappearing back the way their group had come. Fengyong had looked lost then, staring blankly at the young boy who had stopped throwing his body weight around and had settled for growling ferally and snapping his teeth at anyone who wandered too close. The people surrounding them looked appropriately horrified.

Ryo decided, sitting on the train bench with the man’s steel-bars-disguised-as-arms wrapped around his shoulders to keep him tied to Fengyong’s side, that every adult in his family did not know how to treat normal children. It was definitely his mother’s fault that Ryo had turned out to be such an aggressive, reclusive weirdo with strange attachment issues tied to figures he respected.

He couldn’t even begrudge Fengyong anymore, the man was just _that_ physically impressive. There was no way he was human. Ryo stared wide-eyed at his uncle’s closed eyes and tried to tug away slightly, hoping he had fallen asleep. He was starting to sweat from being so close to the man for so long. His uncle ran abnormally hot. Expectedly, the man simply tightened his grip without opening his eyes and ignored the breath leaving Ryo’s lungs.

“_Christo_,” Ryo gasped, ignoring the horrified stare of an elderly woman across the way. “Let me _go_,” he couldn’t help but whine like the child he was. “I’m hungry. I’m tired. I’m thirsty. I have to _pee_.”

Fengyong finally opened his eyes and slowly raised them skyward. He seemed to be rethinking his decision to essentially kidnap Ryo from his home based purely on how much trouble it had turned out to be. Ryo let out a high-pitched noise to coax the man along towards letting him go. He wanted to run away to the restroom and hide behind the locked door away from people.

“You…” Fengyong stared mournfully at Ryo, “You have a talent for this.”

“I’ll start screaming,” Ryo whispered back, eyes wide in a look he hoped was threatening. “Let me go.”

Fengyong raised his free hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. Truthfully, Ryo admired the man quite a bit. Even with everything, the man had not lost his cool, though Ryo had caught glimpses of the wild animal behind the man’s gentle, patient mask. “Just…just go,” his uncle sighed, “Stay on the train. I’ll come find you when it’s time to disembark.”

No sooner than the man relaxed the ironclad grip he had on the boy, Ryo took off and darted out of the train car. His vision was black aside from the glowing haven of the single-occupant restroom before his eyes. Desperately, Ryo slammed into the door and scrabbled for the handle. He whined loudly when it didn’t open, jaw clenching when he heard a manly yelp inside the toilet (presumably from shock, due to the deafening noise of a young boy slamming into the door at high speeds).

Backing away to stand against the wall across from the door, Ryo sat back on his haunches and stared intently at his prey: the door. He waited for two agonizingly long minutes, during which he got several odd looks from passerbies, before his vision zeroed in on the door handle turning slowly. As soon as the lock clicked and the door began to open inwards, Ryo was there and kicking the door in quicker. Rapidly, it swung back and hit the man behind it. Ryo didn’t have more than a half second to process that before the door bounced back and slammed into his face.

Gagging at the sudden taste of copper flooding his mouth, Ryo ungracefully fell on his backside with a strangled snarl. The man behind the door was yelping and crying in a horribly obnoxious way. The door slowly swung open to reveal

_purple_.

Ryo swore he would punch the man in front of him. Familiar, ivory white skin smeared with bright purple makeup stared back at Ryo, a startling shade of red spilling from the man’s nose. “_You!_” Ryo spat, choking on blood and pain as he resisted the urge to leap on the man with a violent shriek.

“M-Me?!” the purple man spluttered, hand going up to cradle his nose as he stared incredulously back at the boy. A second passed before recognition filled the clown’s expression, a finger flinging out to point at Ryo. “_You!_” he yelped, comically shocked.

“I’m going to _kill you_,” Ryo ended in a shrill threat, violence causing his teeth to ache while he shook with the desire to attack the man. Before he could do anything more than stagger to his feet to prepare to launch himself forward, a hand caught Ryo by the back of his sweater and lifted him off his feet.

“Your temperament leaves much to be desired,” a smooth baritone chuckled, deep enough that the hair on Ryo’s arms raised.

“Sir!” the ridiculous man yelped from where he was sprawled out on the floor. Ryo watched as a shiny black shoe lashed out to kick the man in the ribs. It connected with a solid thud, sending the man’s torso to meet the ground with a pained groan.

“Honestly,” the man chuckled, raising Ryo up to meet his eyes. Dark brown — nearly black — eyes swirled like espresso in an unnaturally beautiful face. Too stunned to react (and desire for violence nearly totally gone), Ryo stared blankly at the man. “I didn’t think we’d be seeing you again, brat.”

The man’s statement was a clear fish for information, amused but clear in arrogant expectation.

“My Uncle has me,” Ryo answered unthinkingly, the man’s obvious authority making his tongue loose.

“Has you?” the man — _Alessio_, Ryo’s mind whispered — hummed. “Odd wording for it.”

At that, Ryo scowled. With a smooth movement, he twisted out of the sweater and dropped to his feet. “_Yes_, has me,” Ryo snipped, mood fowling once more now that his shock had dissipated. He didn’t want to remember his mother’s cruel abandonment.

“Hm, should we be worried about a lost little boy wandering the train all on his lonesome?” Alessio asked, but his tone made it clear that he was mocking Ryo.

“I’m not lost!” Ryo snapped, temper fraying. All the people he had been required to deal with had worn him down significantly. He just wanted to lock himself in the bathroom and get _away_.

“Then where’s your Uncle? You seem to have a rather bad habit of wandering away from your guardians, if the way my partner picked you up a few months ago is any indication,” the too-handsome man smirked down his nose at Ryo, tossing the boy’s sweater at his head.

To the right of them, the purple headed man (_William? Not quite. Unimportant._) whined as he clambered to his feet while delicately holding his side. “Sir,” the man complained, looking near tears, “Can I go sit back down?”

“Shut up,” Alessio and Ryo snapped in unison, the older man looking amused while the boy’s expression twisted in disgust. Any admiration Ryo had felt for the man was quickly shriveling up and dying. When they both weren’t trying to get away from each other while wearing false masks, he was quite obnoxious.

“I’m leaving,” Ryo sneered, sliding his sweater over his head and trying to skirt around the men. The bathroom on the train was clearly unlucky, if his opponents were any indication. Even his Uncle’s grating closeness was better than Alessio and the…clown? Ryo snarled and spun around when Alessio grabbed his companion’s shoulder and drug him after Ryo in a blatant attempt at stalking.

“Stop following me!” he snapped, bristling and aggravated.

“Oh, we’re just going back to our seats,” Alessio chirped in a sugary sweet tone.

“Bullshit!” Ryo sneered as he continued walking, Pierluigi’s propensity for teaching him swears finally coming in handy.

“Watch your mouth, young man,” the man mockingly demanded. Ryo clenched his teeth until his jaw ached as he sped up his pace, making a beeline for the figure dressed in eye-searing red. Alessio made an amused noise of curiosity while he drifted behind, the man in his grasp following sullenly.

“Ryo?” the boy’s uncle asked in surprise, eyes opening to look down at the boy who had darted up and across his lap to wedge himself between Fengyong and the wall. Raising his gaze to the creeps following Ryo, the man let out an interested hum. “I wasn’t expecting to see you two here.”

“Fon,” Alessio greeted him in English like an old friend, nodding shortly as a sly, catlike smile curled over his lips. “I wasn’t aware you had a nephew.”

“Considering you pointed me in their direction, I am loathe to believe that,” Ryo’s uncle chuckled, nodding at them both. “Hello, Skull.”

“Fon!” the purple haired man cheered. “Thank god! Reborn is the _worst_ company on train rides.” The tall man — _Reborn now?_ — reached over and punched the back of Skull’s head, sending him folding forward with a yelp. Barely catching himself before crushing Fengyong and Ryo both, the man _eeped_ at Ryo’s feral snarl and pinwheeled back. “Don’t punch me, sir! You know it’s true! You get way too prissy, sometimes.”

“Skull?” Reborn chuckled, “Shut up before I paint the windows with your tiny brain in front of all these kind folk.”

Travelers who didn’t speak English remained oblivious to the words, but Ryo spotted one or two eavesdroppers who paled dramatically and shuffled towards the exits.

Skull pouted at the man before plopping down next to Ryo’s uncle, scooting further down on the row when Ryo growled at the closeness. He was done with people. The men’s conversation was intriguing, but if another stranger touched him Ryo swore he’d bite a finger or two off.

So, with the warmth of his uncle protecting him, Ryo allowed himself to fall asleep to the sound of quiet conversation.

_____

Waking up was always a sordid affair. Ryo had always been a deep sleeper. Even his mother’s touch barely brought him to the border of sleep and wakefulness, but she inspired gooey feelings of affection and loyalty. Fengyong had no such ability. A firm male hand shaking Ryo’s shoulder sent him straight into panic, caught in that wild place of grogginess and adrenaline. Metal flashed with a nearly silent whisper as it left its sheath before Ryo’s mind caught up to his body.

“Wow,” he murmured, staring with amazement at his first sight of the day. His uncle, unamused. Ryo’s dagger, caught between two fingers, a foot away from Fengyong’s throat.

“Perhaps my dear sister instilled wariness in you a bit too well,” Fengyong said.

“Don’t be bitter,” Alessio chuckled from out of sight, “You’re just pissy because your nephew hates you.”

“Reborn,” Fengyong said with a gentle, kind smile, “Would you like me to break your clavicle?”

“As if you could,” the man sneered back as Ryo sat up and tried to take his knife back. Fengyong raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the other man before sheathing Ryo’s knife and slipping it into his own sleeve.

“Give it back,” Ryo snapped, shoulders rising up as he bristled in aggression.

“_Christo_,” Alessio laughed, delighted, “It’s six a.m. and he’s already biting at the bit. Where’s you get this one, Fon?”

“I’m beginning to suspect he rose straight from hell,” Fengyong groaned, eyes cast to the heavens. “To answer your question, Ryo: I’m confiscating this and any other weapons you might have.”

Ryo couldn’t help the bone-deep offense that immediately set in even as Alessio laughed and the purple clown exhaled sharply in amusement. Did his uncle not believe him worthy of a weapon? “Why? Mother gave them to me!” he snapped, defensively curling around where his baton was stashed at his waist. Fengyong raised a brow and reached forward. Ryo hissed as his uncle easily pinned his torso down and liberated him of his baton.

“What I will be doing with you must be taught without weapons. Honestly,” his uncle sniffed, “What was she thinking? Weapons are for the riffraff.”

Alessio made a noise like Fengyong had mortally wounded him. “How rude!” The grown man cried out, “I’ll have you know that we can’t _all_ be nasty muscle freaks. Weapons are _elegant_ and not for brutes like you.”

“B-But Fon isn’t nasty!” the purple weakling yelped, coming to Fengyong’s defense. Alessio gave him a scathing glare even as Fengyong smiled pleasantly at the younger man.

“No one likes a slut, Skull,” Alessio sneered.

“You’re the one who sleeps around!” Skull snapped back, diving away with a scream as the fedora-wearing man shot where his head had been.

“Don’t be obscene in front of children, you little cock sucker,” Alessio (Reborn was a stupid name) sneered.

“Back to the more important topic of _giving me back my knife_!” Ryo snapped.

“You’re the one being obscene, Reborn,” Fengyong smiled, sharp edges giving Alessio a touch of wariness. “I quite vividly remember you climbing into my bed a week ago withou-”

“Okay!” the weakling interjected loudly. “First of all? Wow, did not need to know that. TMI. Second of all, may I remind you of the _literal_ child sitting right there?”

Immediately, Alessio kicked the purple-headed clown to the ground.

"You're so hypocritical!" Alessio sneered, "Stop lying to yourself and admit you're a voyeur!"

“I know what sex is!” Ryo hissed defensively, offended by the prey animal demeaning him. Of course, he wasn’t expecting the protective fury that flashed over his uncle’s face. Alessio (wisely) stilled with a boot keeping his partner on the ground.

“Oh?” He purred, leaning in close enough that Ryo could feel his uncle’s breath on his face. “Has someone been bothering my little _Wàishēng_? I’ll happily rip them apart for you, so just let your _Jiùjiu_ know what they looked like.”

“You don’t think if I was being hurt like that, Mother would not have already torn them to pieces in front of me?” Ryo sneered; “No one has or will ever hurt me that way.”

Fengyong’s expression smoothed over, and he leaned back on his heels with a pleasant little smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I will make sure of that,” he promised. “We only have a short amount of time for me to teach you everything I possibly can.” He paused for a moment, looking as though he was deep in contemplation. “Be careful with the word ‘never’, _Wàishēng_, the future holds many uncertain variables. Your kind especially…some people have acclimations that tend towards trying to bring them to the ground, quite forcefully. One day, you will be powerful. That much is in your blood. But one day is not today, nephew; you must practice reasonable caution.”

Even as he spoke the words, Fengyong seemed to understand that Ryo would completely ignore them. He could read as much from the mulish set of the boy’s mouth.

“So, are we done being scary? Can I get up now”

Ryo stared at where the purple irritant’s voice came from. The man had remained on the ground, Alessio’s boot glued to his face and two black eyes from where Ryo had previously broken his nose. The boy couldn’t help but give a delighted laugh at the injuries, proud of himself for managing to mark Alessio’s pet (?).

“Dogs belong on the floor,” Alessio sneered haughtily as he ground the other man’s face deeper into the train car's rug.

“What’s your name, dog?” Ryo couldn’t help but ask, drawing his knees up to his chest to rest his chin on them. They were on a different train from the one Ryo had fallen asleep on; this train car was completely empty apart from their group. The ever-present ocean had disappeared from view and been replaced by rolling country side spotted with sheep and small villages slowly being lit up by the rising sun.

Fengyong moved from crouching on the train car’s ground to sit between Ryo and the other men, wedging the boy once more between his body and the wall.

“Um, Skull?” The clown responded, looking confused. “The others have been calling me that the entire time.”

“Oh,” Ryo hummed, tilting his head, “I thought it was just a stupid nickname. You know, like Rover?”

Skull looked utterly offended, drawing back from under Alessio’s boot and clutching a hand to his chest with a dramatic wail. “I’m not a _dog_!” he objected violently. Ryo raked his gaze up and down the man’s body with a piercing glare and a raised brow. With a delicate sniff, he turned his nose.

“Could have fooled me,” he huffed. Skull, true to his clownish appearance, bent over and started crying then and there.

“Aw,” Alessio chuckled, petting Skull’s ridiculous purple hair with movements that looked more painful than comforting, “He made the lackey cry.”

“Don’t sound so torn up about it,” Fengyong dryly chuckled. He settled a strong arm around Ryo, ignoring the boy’s hiss, and leaned back. “We’ve got a long trip ahead of us, _Wàishēng_. It’s best to be comfortable.”

“I’m not!” Ryo snapped back, but his struggles were half hearted.

“Oh, that’s a shame, I am!” His uncle covered his teasing grin with a sleeve. “We’re heading to Bologna, where we will spend our time together. If I had longer and times were safer, I would bring you to your home town.”

“Catania is my hometown,” Ryo sniffed.

“Oh, please, Palermo is the gem of Sicily! We should have gone there! It's way better than fishy Catty! Bologna isn't horrid, though,” Alessio snipped, collapsing on Fengyong’s other side and wrapping an arm around the man’s shoulders. “We’ll be coming with you two. There’s a bit of work to be done there.” The man gave a happy sigh, leaning his head back. “_Bologna the Fat_…how I long to be in your gentle embrace once more.”

Ryo stared at the strange man doubtfully. It seemed odd that such a man could maintain a job.

“Don’t mind Reborn; he’s just a nostalgic softie. He got his first doctoral degree there,” Skull sighed, cross-legged on the floor.

“Oh, Skull! Such a well behaved doggie, staying off the furniture like you were told!” Alessio cooed, the mean smile on his face looking perfectly at home.

“Oh yeah,” Skull chuckled, “Can’t wait to kill myself before this train ride is over.”

“You say the darndest things, dear,” Alessio snipped, “It’s so stupid of you to think that I would ever let you die by any hand outside of my own!”

Skull just put his face in his hands and tried not to cry.

_____

“Oh Jesus Christ and Mary...I somehow made it,” Skull sobbed, clutching onto the station’s bench with all the devotion of a man who had escaped hell and was searching for something real.

“Against my best attempts,” Alessio sighed, draping himself over Fengyong’s free arm. “Fon, carry me? Pretty please?” The obscenely handsome man fluttered his too-long eyelashes up at the man, going all loose and long-limbed.

“Unfortunately, my arms are full,” Fengyong chuckled. Ryo had his teeth quite firmly sunk into his uncle’s forearm while he screamed and struggled in the man’s grip.

“You’re so boring,” Alessio snootily huffed, skipping over to kick Skull around.

“I hate you,” Ryo sobbed when his uncle gave him a firm swat on the leg. He hadn’t even managed to break skin, regardless of how much strength he put into biting down.

“My heart aches at your cruel words,” Fengyong replied with a gentle smile. “Obedience would be appreciated. Would your mother like a report of your uncouth behavior?” 

“You’re the worst,” Ryo cried, going limp and hiding his face in his arms while his uncle shifted him into a more classical child-carry.

“As you’ve told me,” Fengyong chuckled, patting Ryo’s back with too much strength. “Don’t worry, nephew. You’ll get to fight and be left alone in just a moment. You’ll feel better soon.”

The next few hours found Fengyong and Alessio pointing out weak, petty criminals in shady back alleys and coaching the young boy through fistfights against adults. Ryo thought it was kind of amazing how many people underestimated him for his age. They hesitated to hit him and, in doing so, signed the warrant for their downfall. By dinnertime, Ryo was delighted with his split knuckles, aching bruises, and a sluggishly bleeding cut that split the tail end of his left eyebrow (His uncle had quickly disabled the attacker and had Alessio drag the screaming man into a smaller alley. Ryo didn’t question the eerie silence that followed.).

The adrenaline left him drained and completely exhausted. Ryo dozed against his uncle’s arm while the man slowly fed him _tortellini_ and gently ran fingers through his air. Privately, Ryo thought to himself that his uncle wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aah...it's been a while, huh? classes consumed my life for awhile, there. haha.
> 
> well, now that we're quarantined i can pretend like my work doesn't exist and instead shovel more shitty content into the world (and waste all my waking hours with animal crossing)!
> 
> sorry that this chapter is so much shorter than the others. i didn't really have the motivation to write more and it felt like a good stopping place. once again, i didn't really want to edit this lol so apologies for any mistakes...i'll eventually get around to correcting them. i'm not super pleased with this chapter but i suppose it's better than nothing.
> 
> well, thanks for reading! everyone, please stay safe.


	4. solivagant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> solivagant: a solitary wanderer

Waking up was, as usual, a dreary affair. Ryo laid still, bleary eyed, as he contemplated the pros and cons of sneaking out the window and finding his own way back to Catania and his mother. The surface he had been deposited on last night had left with with a horrible backache. Logically, Ryo knew that most beds had mattresses. With that fact, he was the odd one out for hating them, but he was bitter. The absence of both his mother and the familiarity of hay stabbing him in the back left him defiantly mad.

There was hair in his mouth, which was normal. It wasn’t his or his mother’s, which made it both abnormal and gross. Ryo spat it out, irritated at his own irritation. This level of consistent anger couldn’t be good for his heart. He’d probably die from a stress-induced heart attack before he turned ten. Dragging himself out from where he had been burrowed under the covers, Ryo scowled at his uncle’s dumb face. The man opened his eyes—giving up the pretense of sleep—and returned with a dopey smile, apparently forgetting the 24-hour tantrum that Ryo had been rocking.

“Good morning, Ryo,” the man greeted, silky hair freely splayed out over the pillows. Gross. Ryo glared at the man in silence, only biting out a response when Fengyong raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Morning, Uncle,” he muttered tensely, glancing around the room for his scarf. His uncle had evidently chosen a hotel that was nearly appallingly luxurious in comparison to the storehouse Ryo had been raised. He couldn’t help but feel bitter about that as well.

“Call me _Jiùjiu_,” Fengyong cheerfully demanded, pushing himself upright. Ryo scowled at his uncle, irrationally mad at how perfect the man’s hair managed to look first thing in the morning. It was unfair that he had inherited a rat’s nest instead of his mother’s (and apparently uncle’s) smooth texture.

“Whatever,” Ryo sniffed dismissively, eyes alighting on his lilac love draped over the room’s sofa. He couldn’t believe Skull had managed to make the gorgeous color something so appallingly atrocious. A firm hand caught him before he managed to slip off the bed and dragged him to lie across his uncle’s lap with a startled yelp. Ryo couldn’t help the offended noise that left him as he bucked his hips and tried to struggle out of the man’s impossibly strong arms. The man couldn’t be human.

“Don’t be so impolite, _Wàishēng_. I won’t be having you behave like this the entire month.” For once, his uncle wasn’t smiling. The sight scared Ryo more than he would like to admit. Falling still in the way only a mouse in full view of a cat could manage, Ryo stared wide-eyed up at his uncle as warmth washed over him and left him limp. “That’s more like it,” the plastic, gentle smile returned; “I know it’s difficult for you to behave, but your mother trusted you with me for a reason. Fighting me at every turn will only make this month pass by slower. I don’t mind your aggression, but let’s not direct it at me, hm?”

The warmth had turned almost oppressive, searing into Ryo where his uncle was touching him. Cowed in the face of a predator baring his fangs, Ryo nodded silently. Fengyong raised a brow. “Yes, _Jiùjiu_,” Ryo amended, breaking eye contact and instead looking at the corner of his uncle’s jaw.

“There we are,” Fengyong purred approvingly. He squeezed the back of Ryo’s neck once more with a scalding grip, then let him up. Ryo rolled off the bed and ran across the room to leap onto the sofa, snatching his scarf up on his way. Burrowing under the couch cushions, Ryo wrapped it around his neck and settled in to wait.

(He ignored the thought that he was hiding like a prey animal in its den. That would be unbecoming.)

It took a few moments, but Ryo heard his uncle sigh heavily before beginning to shuffle about the room with nearly silent footsteps. Ryo suspected that he only heard them to make him more comfortable while he licked his wounds.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent curled up in the sofa, but he must have dozed off at some point. A sharp knock on the hotel room’s door startled him back to awareness. Fengyong went silent mid-step. A moment passed before a series of rapid taps and scratches made themselves known. It must have been some sort of code, because the door opened with nary a click almost immediately.

“Reborn,” Fengyong sighed, “Do you need something?”

“I left my hat and coat in here last night,” returned a breathy giggle.

“You’re wearing both of them.” His uncle did not sound amused at the bold-faced lie.

“Well! What do you know?!” Alessio’s voice answered, high-pitched in the mocking tone of faux-surprise he had mastered at birth. “I didn’t even notice! Well, we’re here anyways, so come eat with us?”

The noise Fengyong let out sounded long-suffering with a hint of amusement. “I meant to begin Ryo’s training this morning,” he mused.

“Even children need to eat!” Alessio sounded positively ecstatic (Ryo quietly mourned the loss of the cool predator that the man had previously embodied).

“What do you mean by ‘even children’?” Ryo heard the purple dog’s quiet mutter even as his uncle responded.

“I suppose that’s true. _Wàishēng_, come out.” Part of Ryo really, really wanted to ignore his uncle and stay under the cushions until he died. The other, more logical, part informed him that his terrifying uncle would just drag him out with or without his consent. 

(The last part—the one where his bloodlust lived—quietly purred that they could just go for the throat.)

Ryo, still reeling from his uncle’s scolding, begrudgingly exited his den and dragged his feet the entire way to his uncle’s side while scowling at the floor.

“Is he…pouting?” Skull seemed hesitant to ask.

“I do believe he is!” Alessio sounded far too excited for _that_ particular revelation.

“I’m not!” Ryo snarled instantly in response, snapping his head up to bare his teeth at the two (frankly annoying) men.

“He is,” Fengyong agreed in the same moment. Skull’s face twisted up like he was constipated and Ryo knew from a horribly long train ride with the clown that _that_ particular expression meant he was about to start howling with laughter. Before the dog could let out the first peal of his hideous cackling, Ryo launched himself at the man and downed him with a punch to the groin.

Skull’s breath left him with a nearly silent squeak. Hands reflexively going to protect the groin left his throat wide open and Ryo, refusing to give up this divinely-gifted opportunity, went for it with all the devotion of a starving street dog diving for some rotten scraps. Teeth snapped audibly onto open air and Ryo choked as his scarf traitorously became a noose. 

Alessio’s smug visage came into view as the man lifted him off the ground. “Bad puppy,” he reprimanded (honestly, he sounded disgustingly amused) and dropped him right back down. Hacking and coughing from the surprise strangulation, Ryo couldn’t even manage to snarl at the man.

“Oh my god,” Skull rasped from the ground, white as a sheet and eyes staring blanking at where Ryo had been crouched on his chest. He looked as though his life had passed before his eyes. “Oh my _god_!” Wild eyed, Skull whipped his head around to look at Fengyong while clutching a hand to his throat. “Fon! Your little demon child nearly killed me!”

“I know!” Fengyong looked way too happy for that piece of information. “Isn’t he so cute?” 

Ryo gave up on understanding his uncle.

“Cute?” Skull’s pitch was reaching glass-shattering levels. It was kind of impressive. Ryo would never tell him that, though. “Cute?! Fon, he _tried to rip my throat out with his teeth_!”

Ryo couldn’t believe the dopey grin his uncle was giving him. Hadn’t he just been scolded for being too defiant? “He’s so talented already,” Fengyong cooed, “Already taking down Arcobaleno! My little nephew is going to grow up to be so strong.”

“Honestly, lackey…a _child_ nearly took you out. How pathetic can you be?” Alessio sneered down at Skull, giving the other man a (friendly) kick to the kidney,

“Oh my god,” Skull looked like he was having an epiphany, “Life isn’t actually real.”

“This is real all right,” Alessio smiled pityingly while crouching down to pinch Skull’s nose shut. “Don’t worry, lackey. We’ll take care of you. Although…if even a baby can nearly mortally wound you, I think you need more training.” Skull let out a keening noise not unlike an animal as its dying breath leaves it.

“That’s not a human being,” Skull whispered in nasally tones, staring wide eyed at Ryo. “That’s a monster masquerading as a child.”

_Funny_, Ryo thought, _That’s what I think about all of you._

____

Breakfast was both entertaining and mildly horrifying. Ryo was a bit calmer with his first almost-casualty of the morning, so he was content to sit at Fengyong’s side. The man’s lack of experience with children was a lot funnier that Ryo had thought it would be. He privately suspected that his mother and uncle had been raised by aliens and, once they had grown up, had never interacted with children ever again. Fengyong thought it perfectly normal, even _cute_, for Ryo to nearly kill the purple clown, but clearly believed Ryo couldn’t feed himself.

Perhaps it was last night’s dinner that had perpetuated this assumption, but Ryo wasn’t going to correct it. His mother had stopped feeding him herself while he was young, so it was comforting to relax into his uncle’s side and let him fork bites of omelet into Ryo’s mouth. Fengyong seemed unsure, but (expectedly) delighted at how calm Ryo was acting.

It was still early in the morning, but Ryo found himself ready for his mid-morning nap already. He couldn’t remember the last time so much food was available to him and it sat heavily in his stomach.

He wished Hibiki was here.

Pushing that thought from his mind, Ryo slumped further into his uncle’s side and whined for another bite, opening his mouth when the fork made a swift appearance. He could get used to this kind of life…lazily curling into someone and getting fat from being hand fed by them. Ryo wished he had been reborn as a house cat rather than as a human child.

Eyes slipping shut, Ryo allowed himself to fantasize. Hibiki would be his owner (obviously). She would let him nap in the sunshine all day and he could wander anywhere he wanted. As a cat, he wouldn’t need nearly as much food as a human, so she wouldn’t have to worry about having enough food for a growing child. She liked animals, Ryo knew, so she would probably still let him sleep curled up under the covers with her.

It would’ve been a good life.

Fengyong pulled him back from his daydream with a gentle shake. Ryo blearily blinked up at the man, slow and sweet like he knew his mother (privately) loved. Expectedly, the man’s expression melted.

“You’re a lot cuter when you’re obedient.” Of course, his uncle had to ruin it. Ryo immediately hissed at the man and sat up. How dare his uncle demean him! Ryo wished he was old enough to hit the man, but his revenge would unfortunately have to be something much more passive.

Scowling, and with the burning desire to prove his uncle wrong, Ryo slapped the plate off the table. It shattered on the ground, right alongside his uncle’s hopes for an easy-to-handle nephew. Alessio tilted his head back and laughed loudly at the sight.

“Great job, Fon!” he cooed. “Let’s insult the moody brat and see where that gets us!”

Fengyong looked a bit upset, but Ryo could tell it was more from Ryo moving away than the plate being broken. With a haughty sniff, Ryo slipped off the table’s bench and trotted to the other side. With a defiant smirk in his uncle’s direction, he crawled into Skull’s lap. The dog made a horrified noise, freezing in place and staring at Ryo as if he were a live bomb, primed to explode at the slightest provocation. 

Ryo decided that the man was pretty funny when he wasn’t trying to mock him.

Alessio laughed even louder at Fengyong’s subsequent. Ryo couldn’t find it within himself to feel sorry. 

_Obedient_. Ryo would show his uncle obedient.

____

Eight kilometers of running up and down the _Colle Della Guardia_ hill later, and Ryo thought that maybe obedience would be okay occasionally. Picking battles was its own kind of wisdom.

____

“This month, I’ll be doing all I can in order to drill Muay Thai into your mind and body. If all goes well, by the time I have to return you to your mother you will be well on your way towards becoming a respectable martial artist.”

“Well, what if I don’t want to be a martial artist?” Ryo snipped, just to be difficult.

Fengyong hummed a bit, smiling so gently that Ryo could see the voracious predator that lurked behind his mask of civility. Ryo supposed that was an answer in and of itself. 

“This will be your neutral position,” his uncle began, sliding his right foot back slightly and raising fists up in front of his face. “You will keep your hands up at all times, unless you are using one in the execution of a maneuver.”

Silently, Ryo copied his uncle. Making a proper fist had been one of the first things Hibiki had taught him. Funnily enough, she ensured he could throw a punch before she encouraged him to walk. She hadn’t focused on any particular style of fighting later in life. Ryo assumed that was more due to a lack of time than any absence of desire.

“The first thing you will learn is a body, or a round, kick. Muay Thai is known as the art of eight limbs, but your legs and knees will be vital until you gain more strength. First, step forward with your front leg and place your weight on it.” Fengyong demonstrated, then watched, hyper-focused, as Ryo mimicked the shift in body position.

“Now, before you begin to kick, you must perfect the movement of your hips. Twist your hips straight with power, throwing down your kick-side arm as you move. This will be what you practice for now.”

Ryo couldn’t help but admire the sheer _wildness_ in his uncle’s movements as he showed Ryo the proper method. It was easier to listen to his uncle when he was being taught. The aggressive tension in the air soothed Ryo rather than wound him up. Privately, he thought that he belonged in such an atmosphere. In that sense, he could understand why Skull could look at him and see not a human, but some wild creature.

Normal humans didn’t prefer violence.

The bloodlust that set Ryo and his mother apart from the citizens of Catania was reflected perfectly in Fengyong. Maybe such a thing was genetic, but Ryo didn’t think his mother had a wild beast living in her head that whispered violence and death. Watching his uncle, Ryo thought that maybe something similar lurked in the constantly smiling man. 

Some days (like today), the animal moved into Ryo’s gut and sat low and heavy, prepared to bite and snarl with all the voraciousness of a wild animal. While most would claim such a beast should be oppressed with calm and peace, violence instead was the best method for soothing the nasty thing. Fighting channeled Ryo’s bloodlust into something a bit less lethal.

Content, Ryo obeyed his uncle.

The hours wore on as the day heated, then slowly cooled to acceptable temperatures. It was only once the sun touched the horizon that Fengyong stopped Ryo with a gentle touch to his neck. Panting and limbs shaking, Ryo turned to look up at the man. He looked like the cat who had gotten the canary, the cream, and the dog sent to the pound simultaneously. In a word, pleased.

“You’ve done well, _Wàishēng_,” his uncle informed him, “We’ll take our dinner and then begin work on meditation.”

Exhausted, but more satisfied in that moment than he had in all of his time working for Pierluigi, Ryo gave an accepting nod and fell in half a step behind his uncle. Being in Bologna wasn’t the same as his beloved Catania. There was less teeth-aching anger at home and Hibiki wasn’t here, but, when he wasn’t being horrible, Ryo’s uncle was a decent sort.

Fengyong had brought him outside of Bologna’s city limits to a park after breakfast. Five minutes of walking brought the two of them to a bus stop and, one ten minute drive later, his uncle led them to a quiet little hole in the wall restaurant. Mouth watering smells hung in the street: spices, lemongrass, and cooking meat. Ryo had never eaten such food in this life and scent had his stomach rumbling.

Fengyong ordered for both of them. Ryo couldn’t understand the man’s words due to the rapid-fire, regionally accented Mandarin that both the waiter and his uncle spoke.

“Muay Thai is the traditional martial arts of Thailand,” Fengyong began after the waiter departed, “The art of eight limbs.” He paused for a moment to wake Ryo up with a pinch.

Without even the energy for a scowl, Ryo leaned away from his uncle and instead relied on the chair to keep him upright.

“It is hailed as the ultimate striking style. By utilizing eight points of contact, practicers of Muay Thai turn their bodies into powerful weapons to down their enemies. Through the practice of this style, you will develop not only your body, but your mind and soul as well.”

They were interrupted for a moment by a man delivering food to them. Steaming plates of various dishes were placed before them, quickly followed by a green bean dish and a pot of black tea. Only one set of chopsticks was brought, but the pleased smile on his uncle’s face made Ryo figure it had been intentional.

“My expectations for you are high, Ryo. I will be pushing you hard this month, but trust me in that I am doing this for your benefit. You will have your round kick perfected this week and I will begin teaching you cinching. Next week, you will focus on your knees and after that your elbows. Lastly, I will cover the different types of punches. Everything else in Muay Thai will be built off of this. Fengmian has also been instructed thoroughly in this style and will be able to guide you when you return to her.”

Ryo struggled to keep his eyes open and listen to his uncle at the same time. He had been worked harder than ever before, but the bone-deep ache had satisfaction curling up his throat. Fengyong huffed in amusement. A strong arm pulled Ryo into his uncle’s lap, something he likely would have objected against had the man not pressed a bite of food up against his lips immediately.

Logically, Ryo knew the man was trying to open up the gates to the blind loyalty Hibiki had trained into Ryo. He wanted to induct himself into Ryo’s list of respected authority figures. Even knowing the man’s intentions, Ryo would be hard pressed to say that it wasn’t working. His mother only coddled him like this occasionally, so it felt inherently intimate and special to be hugged and fed as Fengyong was pushing upon him. In addition to the display that morning, Ryo could admit that he felt a bond to the man.

He had spent the vast majority of this life with Hibiki alone. But, in the few months that he had been allowed from the boundaries of the storehouse, Ryo had met a large cast of exciting characters. Childishly, he was pleased by the colorful personalities around him and the fresh set of experiences. For so long, his entire world revolved around his mother and the room they lived in. 

This uncle that he had not known of even three days previously had exposed him to more than Ryo had believed he would ever see. First the storehouse, then Catania, and now an entire Earth. Foods he had never tried, exhaustion he had never felt, and people he had never even considered could exist.

The fact that he had died in the twenty-first century and been reborn in the twentieth had terrified him for so long. The knowledge that space-term wasn’t as consistent as Ryo once believed had viscerally shaken him in his very core. Being suffocated in his mother’s possessive grasp had managed to monopolize his attention, but now he had an entire world to distract him from the existential crisis that constantly nipped at his heels.

Reincarnation was real.

He was in the past.

In this life, murder and death was the norm.

So what? 

Morally speaking, Ryo supposed he should have had a meltdown the first time he genuinely wanted to kill somebody. Realistically, this was the world he lived in now. His mother was purposefully drowning herself in poverty to hide from some unknown entity. Ryo himself had been carefully brought up to follow her without question. His unknown uncle had taken him away so his mother could kill the people chasing them and he was now learning how to fight for his life.

Ryo would probably be an excellent case study for nature versus nurture.

Even with all of these facts taken into account, Ryo still adored his mother, was still going to learn to fight, and would one day—in all likelihood—be a murderer as well. Sleepily, Ryo gazed up at the man who cradled him as a child but had no qualms about instructing Ryo in the best technique for ripping someone’s throat out. 

Fengyong gave Ryo another bite of the bean dish and continued his lecture.

____

At the hotel, Fengyong brought Ryo to the bathroom. At Ryo’s confused look, Fengyong smiled in the way that one looked at a dumb dog that had done something especially cute. “You’re filthy,” his uncle explained graciously while turning the bath tap on. The sound of running water had Ryo alert and tense in an instant.

“A…bath?” Ryo asked, unable to keep the horror from his voice. It was his uncle’s turn to be confused.

“Yes…?” The man responded. “Did you think I would let you into bed with how sweaty you are?”

“A bath,” Ryo repeated. “You’re trying to make me take a bath.” His voice was flat with realization.

Fengyong read the precursor to flight in an instant. Before Ryo could fully spin around, Fengyong’s grip on his arm tightened and Ryo was lifted entirely off the ground. “_I refuse!_” Ryo shrieked, kicking out his legs.

“You can’t refuse this,” his uncle responded, amusement nearly palatable.

“I take it all back!” Ryo spat, “I still hate you!” He went limp in his uncle’s grip. Ryo couldn’t get away, but the dead weight would make him awful to hold up and Ryo hoped his uncle _suffered_.

“I’m delighted that your opinion of me was changing, but flattery won’t get you out of this,” Fon held Ryo’s legs still as he quickly stripped the boy and pushed him into the basin. Grabbing to edges of the tub and locking his joints did nothing when one’s uncle was the physical embodiment of a monster and could crush a man’s skull barehanded without a thought. Ryo gagged when the water lapped against his ankles and quickly changed tactics.

“_Jiùjiu_, please,” Ryo whined pitifully, turning big puppy eyes up on his uncle. The man smiled back happily and dumped a pitcher of water over Ryo’s head. With a furious shriek, Ryo’s efforts redoubled. He tried to drag himself out using his uncle as leverage, but every attempt ended with Ryo back in the tub. 

It was mortifying. His uncle could hold him down with one hand while scrubbing soap all over Ryo with the other. He couldn’t even _do_ anything about it. If he was a lesser man, Ryo would have cried, but that behavior was for weaklings (he stubbornly ignored that the previous afternoon ever happened).

It took several rounds with a bar of soap and even more holes in the walls before the water ran clear. Fengyong pulled the drain and trapped Ryo’s limbs in an unfairly soft towel. Ryo hated it for not being the scratchy piece of cloth that he used at home. It took offensively little effort for Fengyong to keep him trapped in the cocoon with his legs while systemically blowdrying Ryo’s hair. All the while, Ryo ignored his uncle’s attempts at conversation.

“Ryo,” the man charmingly began again, still irritatingly amused. “Why are you so mad?”

Ryo remained stubbornly quiet.

“Ryo,” Fengyong hummed, voice going higher in pitch as he turned the blow drier off and set it aside.

No response.

“Well, if you’re going to ignore me, I suppose I have no choice,” Fengyong’s voice dropped to a low rumble. Ryo couldn’t help the fear that sat like cement in his stomach. With a harsh shout, the man shoved Ryo down and began to—

The shriek of laughter that left Ryo was as unexpected as it was mortifying. His uncle continued pinching at Ryo’s waist and legs, all the while Ryo thrashed around and laughed without voluntary input.

How dare his uncle subject him to such a humiliation.

Being tickled, Ryo suddenly recalled, was the absolute worst feeling in the world.

“I’m _sorry_,” Ryo wailed between laughing and failing to catch his breath. “I’m sorry _Jiùjiu_!”

“That’s more like it!” Fengyong laughed in Ryo’s face as he sat back. Ryo continued to lie paralyzed on the bed, face red and gasping for breath.

“Don’t,” Ryo choked out through his embarrassment. Had he actually laughed like that?! How dare being extremely ticklish carry over, but things like morals didn’t?! “Don’t you ever do that again.”

“No promises,” his uncle chuckled, the noise accompanying a wave of warmth washing over Ryo. It wasn’t as overwhelming as what had happened that morning, but it felt like something was firmly pressing down on him nonetheless. “Now, let’s sit and meditate.”

Still unsteady and blinking his eyes to rid them of involuntary tears, Ryo pushed himself up and scowled (he didn’t pout) at his uncle. Shadowing his uncle’s crosslegged posture, Ryo rested his hands on his knees and followed his uncle’s breathing. Maybe he’d choke the man with his braid once he fell asleep.

“Rest the tip of your tongue on the roof of your mouth behind your teeth. Breath in four, hold seven, and exhale eight with audible noise.”

Fengyong did a few rounds of breathing with Ryo, then began to speak.

“In the beginning, humans lived in the darkness. There was no sun and no moon. The world was ruled by demons who maintained control of all the world’s fire. Through the will of the gods, humans began to discover that they themselves all contained individual flames…”

____

The night was quiet in the hotel room. Only faint noises could be heard from beyond the window. Fengyong’s breathing was too soft to be audible and Ryo couldn’t feel the man’s heartbeat from where he was. His uncle’s body temperature seemed comparable only to a trash incinerator. It was absolutely stifling. The heavy comforter sat oppressively over Ryo where he was curled up near the middle of the uncomfortably soft mattress.

With a quiet huff, Ryo wriggled out of the side of the bed. He crawled the distance to the window and lied down pressed up against the chilly glass. This close, he could hear the noises of city nightlife. Hideous club music, glass bottles shattering, and fists meeting flesh…Bologna’s sounds were similar enough to Catania that Ryo could almost shut his eyes and pretend he was home, were it not for the absence of the ocean.

Ryo missed home.

His clothes had been sent to the hotel’s laundry room alongside a wad of cash (presumably for the damage Ryo had caused in the bathroom), so Fengyong had borrowed one of Skull’s band shirts. With a smile, Ryo’s uncle had called the dog an ‘angsty teen with an unhealthy obsession for heavy metal’ and in the same breath told Ryo that he would break all of his fingers if he became one. Ryo knew the man was joking, but Skull had looked appropriately horrified and started crying then and there. It had been pretty funny, so Ryo let himself laugh at the clown.

It hadn’t seemed like a big problem then, but Ryo missed _his_ clothes. They wouldn’t even smell like home after he got them back, so he had an entire month left in Bologna without any of his typical comforts.

He laid in silence for several more minutes before his uncle gave up on pretending to sleep and sat up with a whisper of fabric-on-fabric. “What’s wrong, Ryo?” came the sleepy question. Ryo sighed heavily and watched his breath fog up the glass. The streetlights turned into blurry shadows of themselves, suddenly unsure as to whether they were street lamps or fairies, vague in shape and suitably mysterious.

“Can’t sleep,” he muttered after Fengyong gave him a moment to gather his thoughts. “I don’t like the…thing.”

It was a bit embarrassing, but he didn’t know the word for mattress in Mandarin or Italian. Any other language would confuse his uncle, since those were the only two he was meant to know. “The soft part,” he amended.

“_I suppose you’re used to something a bit more modest,_” his uncle hummed, slipping almost unconsciously into Mandarin. “_I’ll admit to a certain discomfort with it, myself. Your mother, our sister, and I grew up sleeping wherever we could._”

Ryo rolled over and stared at where his uncle had propped himself up with a muscular arm. “_Really?_” he asked, curiosity burning. Hibiki never spoke of her past, only the present, and Ryo had figured it was best not to ask.

“_Yeah,_” Fengyong answered with a nostalgic laugh. “_Our father had been a Wo Hop To Red Pole, but ended up being killed on an enforcement job. To keep our mother in the Triad, the three of us were taken to a house and used as hostages there. For the first few years, times were rough, but we worked our way to better conditions._” 

Ryo had crept closer while his uncle spoke and when the man smiled again he couldn’t keep himself from climbing back into bed and pressing against the man. A strong arm wrapped around him as Fengyong fell back against the pillows. His chest was broad, firm, and—best of all—his uncle’s heartbeat was strong and comforting.

“Those times are over for us, though,” Fengyong murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself. “Fengyun fled with her lover, a third cousin, and your mother disappeared. Had I known she were pregnant, I would have pursued in a more timely manner. _I remained with the Triads. Perhaps it’s cowardly, but it’s all I’ve known. At this point, it’s the best way to keep all of you safe._” His arms tightened around Ryo. Quietly, Ryo shoved his cold nose against his uncle’s throat to better hear his breathing. Fengyong let out a sigh (if it shuddered, Ryo wouldn’t say anything).

“Well, I’ve found you both now. Fengyun’s hidden herself with that man’s help, so I don’t anticipate seeing her until she sends for me. That particular branch of the family has always been good about staying away until they want to be found. That’s alright, though. As long as you all are safe, it’s worth it.”

Fengyong was definitely speaking to himself by now. Ryo could nearly feel the familial chains clanging into place around his heart. His uncle was obnoxious, but he was a predator who was obsessively loyal to the idea of family. He was possibly the only person alive who could understand Ryo’s inherent bloodlust. Ryo supposed he could indulge the man, just for tonight.

With his uncle’s soft voice droning away in his ears, a powerful heartbeat beating against Ryo’s chest, and vibrations warming his nose, Ryo fell asleep.

____

The next morning found Fengyong, Ryo, Skull, and Alessio at a different café. This time, Fengyong was graciously allowing Ryo to order for himself. Perhaps he was reading too far into things, but Ryo couldn’t help but feel like a street dog being made to act as a Pomeranian. He blankly stared at the menu while now-familiar bickering and insults began flying across the table.

“I don’t know why you’re so mad.” Alessio had his feet kicked up on the table and was staring derisively at Skull.

“You and your,” a glance at Ryo, “night time partner _ruined_ my sheets! I can’t believe you,” another pause, “got your _secretions_ all over my bed! I literally lay down in it without noticing, Reborn! I actually had to go and throw up.”

“First of all, don’t call them secretions. You make it sound twenty times worse,” Alessio sniffed. “Secondly, where else would I take a one night stan-“

“_Reborn_!”

“-d? I wouldn’t want just any woman knowing where my hotel room was.”

“So you use _mine_? Those psychos are going to show up and kill me for not being you!”

“Does that sound like my problem? What do you think, Fonny?”

“Mm, not really,” Ryo’s uncle answered with a pleasant smile, arm relaxed around Ryo’s shoulders.

“Exactly. It’s not my fault you were dumb enough to not check your sheets before getting in them. I’m just teaching you to be more situationally aware.”

Skull let out a noise not unlike a kettle when it’s boiling. Ryo genuinely couldn’t figure out how he managed to reach those pitches as a man. It was kind of amazing, like watching a dog pee while standing on its front legs.

“Have you decided?” Fengyong murmured, tapping Ryo’s shoulder while the bickering continued.

“Look, all I’m saying is that you lying down in my semen does, in fact, make you irreversibly gay.”

Ryo scowled down at the menu while he contemplated his dilemma. He had two options. One, admit that he was deficient in any way, or two, fake it until he made it. “Omelet,” he demanded. “I want tomato in it.” There was no way he’d show weakness in front of a predator.

“The same thing as yesterday?” His uncle asked with a frown. “Don’t you think you should branch out a bit? Why don’t you choose one of the croissant sandwiches?”

“Do I get to actually choose, or are you just going to steer me until I make the decision you wanted all along?” Ryo snapped testily.

“Leon’s babies would be _way_ cuter than your dumb octopus’s!”

“No! Octopi are far superior to lizards and you know it!”

Fengyong smiled genially and stayed quiet, which Ryo interpreted as _hurry up and choose the sandwich I want you to eat_. 

“Then I don’t wanna eat!” he scowled, crossing his arms defiantly and curling his upper lip.

“Ryo,” his uncle frowned, “Choose something.”

They both ignored the gunshots from across the table. The benefit to having a gun-toting psycho come to breakfast with you was that it didn’t take long until the place was cleared out entirely.

“Omelet. With. Tomato.” Ryo growled, slapping the menu blindly with his hand to emphasize each word.

“Ryo, what’s the problem?” Fengyong finally sighed, exasperatedly pinching the bridge of his nose in the same manner as a long suffering mother.

“There isn’t one! I just want the omelet!”

The other side of the table had finally quieted down, but that was more due to Alessio having stabbed Skull through the cheek with a fork than any consensus being reached between the two of them. Skull looked appropriately traumatized, but Alessio was leaning across the table with a flicker of interest (_dangerous_, Ryo’s mind whispered) in his eyes.

“Oh? This place doesn’t serve omelets, though,” Alessio hummed thoughtfully, propping a cheek in his hand.

“Really?” Ryo blinked in surprise and looked down at the menu. He squinted a bit, as if that would make the printed words before him find a meaning.

“No, I’m lying,” Alessio sneered back with a mocking smile.

“Stop messing with me!” Ryo snapped, throwing his head back and glaring down his nose.

“You can’t read,” his uncle realized with a bit of surprise under his breath. Alessio had the ears of a bat and heard it anyways.

“You can’t _read_?” The man looked appalled, as though Ryo had spat at his feet and called his mother a two-bit whore.

“I,” Ryo began, horrified at the embarrassment that was welling up his throat. “No.” He sounded like a whining child even to his own ears and slammed his mouth shut with a quiet clack of teeth.

“I guess you’ve never been to school, then?” his uncle continued, frowning.

“No _school_?!” Alessio was looking as though he would lobotomize someone if he heard anything else disagreeable. Why such a dangerous man was so enamored with education was unknown to Ryo; it truly defied all logical thought.

“So what?!” Ryo snapped. “School is useless in Catania and I’d rather work!”

“Oh my god,” Skull whispered, having successfully removed the fork and looking as though he wished it were still in to keep him quiet. “This kid is stomping on all Reborn’s trigger words.”

“Fon!” Alessio snapped, leaning back and narrowing his eyes. “Why on Saint Rosalina’s blessed name is this child not educated?”

“I’m plenty educated!” Ryo objected.

“Well, I guess I’ll be remedying the situation, Reborn,” Fengyong hummed, warning Ryo to calm down with a firm tap to the neck. “No worries.”

“I’ll see to it he is indeed,” Alessio sneered, regally crossing his legs and tilting his chin. “Don’t worry, Fon, any person who has the pleasure of being educated by me comes out irrevocably changed.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Fengyong sighed, glancing at Skull with a look of utter pity. The other man didn’t notice, too busy making faces at his reflection in a spoon. “Leave my nephew’s education to me, please.”

“If I find your methods deficient, I’ll be happy to take over,” Reborn looked almost delighted at the prospect of a child to torment.

“I don’t anticipate that being needed,” Ryo’s uncle smiled with a hint of teeth. That settled the manner and Reborn leaned back, satisfied with the results.

Scowling, Ryo crossed his arms and sunk further into his uncle’s side. “I still want my omelet. With tomato.”

____

The rest of the week passed by similarly. Fengyong judged him ready to actually move on to kicking on day three. Ryo spent the rest of the week perfecting his right side, then the left. His uncle was absolutely anal about the smallest of details, but it produced results. In moments of respite, his uncle took him to task and gave him reading primers to use. Once Ryo figured out the alphabet and connected the familiar sounds with words, learning to read was a quick effort. It was exhausting, but the proud smile Ryo received Friday evening made it worth it.

Saturday, Ryo was allowed to rest. His uncle and Reborn had a meeting to attend to, so Ryo was left to care for the dog. It wasn’t the most admirable job in the world, but Ryo knew it had to be done. Skull got into the weirdest situations without someone to keep an eye on him. Best of all, he was still easy to bully into getting gelato.

The bike Skull pulled out to drive the two of them around the city in search of Bologna’s Best Gelato was an absolute beauty. Ryo didn’t know anything about bikes, but it was black and purple, so he was rather pleased with it. He had no memories of riding a motorcycle, so the experience would surely be valuable.

The bike itself let out deafening roars whenever Skull accelerated and the two of them flew through the badly-paved Italian streets, dodging pedestrians and other vehicles alike with wild abandon. The wind stung where it slapped Ryo in the face. Skull wasn’t quite wide enough to block all of the breeze, but Ryo found he didn’t mind it; the way his clothes and hair were playfully tugged at made him laugh with delight.

Any tension Skull had been carrying melted away at the noise (a tactic Ryo filed away for later use). “Having fun?” he yelled, throwing a glance over his shoulder with a wild grin. Ryo shouted wordlessly in response, excitedly clenching his fingers in Skull’s leather jacket.

They took a few laps around the city, driving for pleasure rather than a destination. The feeling of simply _going_ made something in Ryo’s blood positively sing with pleasure. It was freeing Ryo from chains that he hadn’t realized existed: the chains of a human body’s limitations.

Traveling forty miles per hour down a random pothole-ridden alleyway was something that could really only be done on a motorcycle, and Ryo loved it.

Sooner than Ryo wanted, Skull slowed down and parked on the side of the road. He laughed at the offended noise Ryo made when he helped the boy off the bike and quickly pointed to the gelato stall on the corner of the street.

“Isn’t this what we were looking for?” the dog asked with a smile that was sweeter than the treat Ryo was about to make himself sick on. Ryo debated the pros and cons of running away with the man’s bike, but his loudly complaining stomach took precedence. They had driven around for the better part of the day. Most people were ducking out of the sunshine and into small restaurants for their afternoon meals. As a direct result, Ryo wasn’t forced to wait for the gelato he’d been craving. Best of all, there were no filthy crowds of dirty prey animals.

(Skull shuddered when he thought of what might have occurred.)

Skull charmingly chatted up the young stall owner, fluttering his eyelashes and pouting with faux shock when he ‘realized’ that he must’ve lost his wallet…oh no! His poor foreign cousin would be _so_ disappointed if he couldn’t try authentic gelato like Skull had promised. Oh what’s that? It’s on the house? You’re oh-so-kind, I’m indebted to you forever, sir!

It only would have cost something like two euros, but the dog looked mightily pleased with himself, so Ryo let it go. The _zabajone_ flavor was something entirely new, so Ryo focused on gouging himself on the rare treat. The two of them ended up relaxing on the steps of the Fountain of Neptune and watching the people walk by in the Plaza.

The autumns in Italy were mild, so even though the mornings and nights were chilly, the afternoon heat managed to tease into uncomfortably warm, especially when one was wearing a scarf. Ryo ended up pulling the giant thing off himself, folding it up and reverently placing it next to him. Without it on, the mist from the fountain gently cooled him off and allowed Ryo to slump down further.

“How’s it,” Skull lazily drawled, Slavic accent strong in his relaxation. The sunlight lit his garishly-shaded hair to something a bit softer. He looked less like a member of a bike gang consisting solely of clowns and more like a teenager playing dress up. Ryo snorted at the thought. “What?” Skull whined, grating and pitchy. Alessio had definitely managed to train that sort of hyper-sensitivity into the man.

“Nothing. How old are you?” Ryo responded, absent-mindedly petting his scarf and enjoying the familiar texture of the knit.

“Ehh,” Skull looked embarrassed, “I guess I’m pretty young, especially compared to the rest. I just turned twenty last month.”

He had died at twenty-nine, Ryo thinks.

“You’re an old man,” he scoffs instead.

“Who are you calling old?!” What should have been a threat was made into a pathetic complaint by Skull’s playful tone. In the soft light of the afternoon sun, he reminded Ryo of the animals who make themselves look harmless to disguise their lethality.

“Blue-ringed octopus,” Ryo announced. Skull looked a bit thrown at the sudden declaration.

“Huh?”

“You were talking about octopi earlier. Blue ringed octopus.” Ryo curled his upper lip and raised his chin in both defiance and a challenge. “I won’t yield to you.”

Skull, once again, looked constipated. He seemed to quickly remember what happened last time and the expression was wiped away in less than a second. It didn’t mean Ryo had missed it. The boy gnashed his teeth at the man and took pleasure in the yelp that resulted. Classical conditioning at its finest.

“Sorry!” he sheepishly chuckled, “I don’t mean to laugh! It’s just…I can’t imagine being anything like you.”

“What?” It was Ryo’s turn to be confused.

“The others constantly tell me that I should be more…well, like you, I suppose. But they were super vague about it! I had to figure things out myself. And honestly, I couldn’t be so on-edge all the time. It sounds exhausting.” Skull looked a little beaten down, scuffing his shoes on the fountain steps with an honest-to-god pout. On a grown man it should look disturbing, but Skull’s youthful features just made it pitiful.

“Well of course,” Ryo sniffed imperiously and tilted his chin. “I’m me and you’re you. Even prey animals have teeth to bite with.”

Skull looked like the gelato god himself had descended before him.

“I guess…that’s pretty obvious in hindsight. I’m being ridiculous, again.” The dog leaned back and laughed with a hint of bitterness. “Blue ringed octopus, huh?”

The man didn’t talk again, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Ryo was alright with it. Silence was comforting after so long having to be around others. The other man was mostly good about respecting Ryo’s boundaries. He sat on the opposite end of the steps and didn’t try to manhandle or manipulate Ryo. It was, dare he say it, pleasant.

Ryo had never been a dog person, but he supposed he could make an exception.

____

“Hands _up_,” Fengyong snapped, delivering a solid kick and pushing Ryo back a few feet. The boy reflexively windmilled his arms to get his balance, feet tangled up and unable to recover quick enough. A fist snapped through where Ryo’s defense was _supposed_ to be and connected solidly with his jaw.

Ryo, predictably, dropped like a sack of bricks. Fengyong, predictably, was there before Ryo had hit the ground.

His uncle tilted his face to check the damage, looking unimpressed. Ryo whined when the man prodded at the already-forming bruise, fighting back the urge to growl and bare his teeth. “And this,” Fengyong punctuated with a sharp poke at Ryo’s injury, “Is why we keep our hands up.”

Ryo snapped his teeth and immediately yelped at the pain of the habitual motion. His uncle sighed heavily and stood, motioning Ryo to follow him to his feet. “Ready position,” he directed, eyes going sharp and predatory once more.

Ryo scowled around the pain in his jaw, slid his feet into position, and raised his hands up.

____

“How many times do I have to tell you,” his uncle gave a long suffering sigh. As always, Skull and Alessio provided quality background noise with their bickering, screams (Skull), and gunshots (Alessio). “Biting is not a valid move in Muay Thai.”

“But it is on the streets!” Ryo objected, “And I don’t see why it has eight points of contact and none of them are teeth.”

“He has a point,” Alessio laughed viciously. “There’s no rules on the streets; do what it takes to stay alive.” Skull’s face was turning as purple as his hair and the choking noises had finally gone silent.

“Biting is not a respectable martial arts move,” Fengyong responded with a genial smile. “Reborn, if you keep that up he’ll die for real.”

Alessio scoffed and loosened the rope he’d been using to garrote his coworker. “Killjoy,” he muttered, standing and kicking Skull in the side. “Hurry up and sit back down, lackey. You shouldn’t lie on bar floors no matter how drunk you are, silly dog!”

Skull clutched at his throat and looked as though he were contemplating throwing himself off the nearest tall building.

“Besides,” Alessio continued, artfully throwing himself into his chair like the drama queen he was, “No one cares about being ‘respectable’ on the streets. Certainly not in the sheets!” Alessio laughed uproariously at his own shitty joke even as Skull mock-gagged himself behind his back. Alessio shot at the man without looking, sending him back to the ground with a shriek.

“Exactly,” Ryo sniffed imperiously, “It’s a weapon and I should be allowed to use it. Also, when do I get my knife back?”

“You don’t care about the baton?” His uncle laughed with a knowing grin.

“The knife’s more fun.”

“Well, I suppose you’ll get them when I return you to Catania in a few weeks.” Fengyong folded his hands into his sleeves and smiled cheerfully at his murderous nephew. “Oh, _Wàishēng_, you know I think it’s cute when you scowl like that.”

“Yeah,” Skull muttered, collapsing into his seat. “Real cute. Like rats eating out someone’s intestines.”

“Don’t be such a wet rag, lackey,” Alessio purred; “Don’t worry, Fon thinks you’re cute too. Right, Fon-Fon?”

Fengyong smiled wider and narrowed his eyes enough that even Alessio and Skull could see the animal behind. “Of course,” he rumbled, sounding in every way not appropriate for a child’s ears. The blush that appeared on Skull looked positively obscene and Ryo felt like vomiting at the delight that appeared on Alessio’s face. Could they not flirt while his uncle was still feeding him?

“_Gross_,” Ryo sneered.

“You’ll understand when you’re older, puppy,” Alessio mocked, keeping his attention on Fengyong’s—gag—bedroom eyes.

Ryo’s appetite abruptly disappeared. “I’m going back to the hotel,” he spat. His uncle waved him off with an absent-minded hum and Ryo couldn’t help the soul-deep offense he felt at the dismissal. “Bye!”

Ryo spun on his heels and exited the restaurant as quickly as he could. He took a deep breath of Bologna’s polluted bar-district air and ignored the tightness of his throat. His uncle could show up whenever he wanted.

Hibiki would never do this to him.

Ryo shoved his hands into his scarf under his chin and began to mindlessly wander. He’d been with his uncle two and a half weeks and hadn’t managed to be truly alone in that time frame. Going from entire days spent alone to twenty-four seven surveillance, Ryo thought it was perfectly normal to be tense. He was alone now, though.

The newfound freedom allowed Ryo’s shoulders to relax from where he seemed to near-constantly carry them by his ears. It was giving him a shoulder-ache. Bologna was a pretty city, he could admit, but his heart ached for Catania. He missed seeing all the people he despised. Here, every party was an unknown. Sure, he was better at fighting, but Ryo was still a child. He hadn’t reached the level of monster just yet and there was a lot in the world to fear until then.

Almost as though Ryo’s words were a bad omen, the whistle-whisper of something hurtling through the air was his only warning of

_danger_.

Ryo hit the ground, the bat flying overhead. Before his mind had even processed what was occurring, Ryo had rolled and skipped back several steps to slam up against a brick wall and began to categorize his opponents.

Five total. Three men and two women. They looked like the rough sort, a gauntness to their faces that resulted from more than just a lack of food and a desolate light in their eyes that sung with a poor man’s desperation. In the dim light of a street lamp, Ryo managed to see the faint track marks up an arm. Addicts. They even went after him in an alleyway, which meant they were also cliche.

“What do you want?” Ryo snarled, voice dropping into a lower register. It was almost laughable on a child, he realized, in the face of actual danger.

“Triad Enforcer Fon’s student,” one of the women—ringleader?—stepped forward. Her olive toned skin looked drained and sickly, but the manic green eyes spoke of determination.

“You have the wrong person.” Ryo ground his teeth as he tried for civility. Bloodlust was starting to scratch at the top of his throat, brain pounding viciously on the back of his eyes. His gums ached with the feeling of heat rising in him.

“No,” a blonde man laughed. The sound was empty of joy. “No, we really don’t.”

Without a warning, Ryo shoved off the wall and kneed the closest one in the groin. As soon as he hit the ground, Ryo stomped on his throat and ignored the horrible (_beautiful_) noise of a trachea being crushed before moving on. The green-eyed woman went to backhand him, but Ryo (“Hands up!”) successfully deflected it away before kicking her solidly in the knee. The leg bent the opposite direction and she fell against the wall with a cry, banging her head on the way down.

As Ryo came back from his kick, the blonde man punched him hard across the face. Lights burst and flickered in Ryo’s vision, but he rolled away until he could pop up without being scared one of them would stomp on his head. Blinking away the multicolored darkness, Ryo leaned under a wild swing of the baseball bat and laughed when it hit the blonde man who had run at him instead with a dull thud.

This wanna-be gang had no teamwork.

Ryo elbowed the bat-man in the kidney and, as he fell to his knees, kicked the dropped weapon further down the alleyway. He hardly had time to knee the man in the nose before he was sent flying by the fifth person, a brunette. Ryo shredded his left hand on a nail to stop himself before slamming into a dumpster headfirst scrambled to his feet, darting under the blonde man’s grab on his way up. The green-eyed woman had managed to retrieve the bat and was screaming wildly while swinging it where she sat.

Ryo was grabbed by the brunette and held against a stick-like figure. The woman’s heart was beating erratically, but she managed a solid enough grab. Ryo threw his uncle’s beliefs to the wind and ripped into the woman’s collarbone with his teeth. The skin was thin, so he managed to sink his teeth into the bone before she threw him off with an agonized shriek.

The blonde man decided it would be fun to play soccer and kicked Ryo towards the green-eyed woman. Ryo breathed around his newly-broken ribs and elbowed the woman where he had broken her knee as he reached her. She screamed and scratched at his face with ragged nails. Ryo managed to roll away and staggered to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall.

The blonde looked absolutely furious. Ryo was having the most fun tonight then he’d had in his life and laughed around the blood and skin in his mouth. The man lunged. Ryo ducked under and punched his opponent in the groin. With a breathless groan, the man fell on his knees and socked Ryo in the nose. Ryo managed to stay up and slammed an overhead elbow into the man’s right eye. The man fell back and protected his head while Ryo wailed away for a while more.

Eventually, his hands started really hurting, and Ryo stumbled off of the man with a delighted laugh. The collarbone woman was gone, but the other three were right where Ryo had left them. The green-eyed woman was watching him, seemingly frozen in horror. Ryo kinda wanted to get close and laugh in her face so she could see the skin stuck between his teeth. She might actually pass out from the terror.

“Did you have fun?” Fengyong abruptly appeared in mouth of the alley, looked pleased.

Ryo couldn’t find enough surprise in himself to react with how full he was with bloodthirsty joy, so he shrugged and gave his uncle a toothy grin. “Fun enough,” Ryo hummed, finally spitting out a mouthful of bloody spit. A lot of it was his.

“Didn’t I do well planning this, Fon?” Alessio giggled salaciously, hanging off the man’s arm and fluttering his eyelashes.

“Well enough,” Fengyong echoed his nephew. Alessio looked delighted regardless, puffing up and preening.

“Ryo did this?” Skull peeked around the corner, wide eyed and puppyish. The dog was as wimpy as ever.

The green-eyed woman stared at Alessio as the three newcomers walked into the alley with a mixture of fury and helpless desire. “You lied,” she finally choked out. Alessio looked at her like a particularly disgusting piece of rotted gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

“Of course,” he scoffed, looking offended at the thought of anything otherwise. Ryo watched as Alessio pulled out his gun—not the hideous lime green one, but a sleek black number. The woman stared out the barrel, going crosseyed in her attempt to stare down the thing that would kill her. “Even if you succeeded, you and I would still be right here,” Alessio gently told her in a tone that suggested that you were hopeless for thinking otherwise. He crouched down to the woman’s level and gave a mean smile. “Sorry, but my coworker’s attachments are off-limits.”

“But you hired us,” she whimpered despite the fear in her eyes, “You promised heroin?”

“Oh, darling,” Alessio laughed, harshly poking her in the jaw with his weapon. She made a noise like she was already being killed. “You’re too trusting. I don’t deal in drugs. Anyone worth anything knows this.”

“Stop playing with your meal, Reborn,” Skull muttered with a pout, clinging to Fengyong’s recently vacated arm, “It’s annoying and gross.”

Green-eyes went disgustingly wide and the woman leaned forward and hurriedly yelped, “Wai-”.

A silenced gunshot cut her off before she could finish the beginning of her sentence. 

The inside of her head looked a lot different when it was splattered all over a random brick wall. Ryo wondered if he’d look like that as well one day, considering the life path he was heading down. “Ew,” Skull whined with a wrinkled nose, “Reborn, it’s all over you!”

“I know…” The man sounded positively morose poking at his blood-and-brain-splattered suit. “I can’t believe I have pieces of a random drug addict all over me. Her life wasn’t worth the dry cleaning bill.”

“This is why we use our fists,” Fengyong chuckled like he was watching some kids whine about spilled paint.

“Shut up, Fon,” Alessio snipped, “I watched you literally punch a hole through a man’s gut once; his intestines were all over your arms.”

Ryo couldn’t find it within himself to be bothered by the arguing, but instead, content, he smiled happily as his uncle fussed over him and Alessio killed the remaining addicts. Dopily, he leaned into the hand that caressed his bruised cheek and stared wide-eyed and delighted up at his uncle. “Thanks, Alessio!” he chirped, ignoring the pain in his body in order to lean into his uncle’s chest. It was only right to be polite in response to such a wonderful gift.

“Alessio?” the man asked, faced twisted. “Who the hell is that?”

Skull tilted his head back and laughed hysterically, pointing a finger at his coworker while he cackled. Alessio, stone faced, reached out and broke the finger without hesitation. “Pointing is _rude_, dog,” he sniffed prissily. “Why are you laughing?” He looked annoyed to be the butt of some unknown joke, which was an emotion that no one wanted someone to feel while they were holding a gun.

Skull laughed through the pain, tears from an unknown emotional origin. “I-It’s what you called yourself,” Skull gasped, bent over Fengong’s back to brace himself, “When we fir-first met-t himmm!”

Alessio looked like he wasn’t sure if he was contemplating shooting Skull or himself. “Ah,” he realized in mute disgust, spinning around in the same breath. “Ryo,” he began seriously, eyes focused quite intently on the bleeding boy.

“Hm?” The boy responded, high on the endorphins of an excellent hunt and the knowledge that his uncle didn’t blow him off to blow someone else.

“Call me Reborn.”

Privately, Ryo thought it would be funny to keep calling the man Alessio. However, he _had_ evidently arranged the entire fight, so Ryo figured he owed him. “Of course,” he hummed in response, toes curling happily when Fengyong’s fingers ran through his hair to feel for injuries.

“If I’d known you’d react so well to a fight, I would’ve been doing this daily,” his uncle sighed morosely, “So much wasted time.”

“Isn’t it kinda weird, though?” Skull scowled down at Ryo while shaking his finger out. “It’s weird to see him…not Ryo-ish.”

Reborn laughed harshly, punching Skull hard in the shoulder. “Don’t jinx it,” he warned. “The brat will go to sleep quick and then Fon is _free_.” He gave Ryo’s uncle an R-rated smile, which was easily returned.

“No,” Ryo curled his lip a touch, “I want _Jiùjiu_ to stay with me.”

Skull looked crushed at the words; Reborn was just irritated. “Puppy, your uncle has needs.” The tall man looked like he might lie down and throw a tantrum if the boy refused to relent.

“You mean _you_ do,” Fengyong chuckled, pulling Ryo into his arms as he stood up. “As an expert martial artist, I have total control over my body. Nothing happens without my say-so.”

“Oh?” Skull hummed, shy blush making an appearance as he kicked at the ground. “Total control over your body, you say?”

“Yeah,” Reborn was drooling over Ryo’s uncle like a dog over a chunk of prime rib, “_Total. Control_.”

“I’ll demonstrate another time. Tomorrow perhaps?” Fengyong hummed with a ditzy smile, starting off back towards the hotel with his dozing nephew laid over his shoulder. “I wasn’t aware the two of you were so interested in martial arts! It will be fun to teach you both the art of meditation. Ryo can show you how it’s done!”

The two of them were gone by the time Fengyong had completed his cheerful proposition. He glanced down at Ryo with a soft smile and continued on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly speaking...ryo was supposed to be heading home at the end of this chapter. that, obviously, didn't happen, so we'll be finishing up with fon and co. next chapter, then back to catania and bigger fish to fry!
> 
> i'm a bit sad. the four of them together are so easy to write. a few scenes didn't come out as well as i intended, but i couldn't quite get it to work out no matter how much i rewrote. even so, the majority of this was written in one day, so i will understandably miss the ease with which their scenes come together.
> 
> this chapter was finished early due to the wonderful power of schoolwork procrastination. take that as you will.
> 
> thank you all for reading, as well as your wonderful comments! i love love love hearing what specifically you like, so just know that every time I read a comment, it has me smiling.
> 
> stay safe everyone!


	5. filipendulous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> filipendulous: suspended by a single thread

Ryo had always been the sort of person who carefully looked after his belongings. His mother and him had little to their names. That being the case, what they _did_ have tended to be held in high regard. Ryo’s prized possession was—quite predictably—the scarf his mother had made for him. Since its creation, Ryo had kept it either around his neck or close at hand. If he had any say in it, no one else would be able to touch it. Of course, its existence provided an excellent handhold for wrangling an out-of-control child, so such a hope was, frankly, impossible.

Anger—an emotion that was becoming disturbingly common—bubbled up Ryo’s throat as he crouched on the floor of the hotel room, ribs aching. Skull was leaned up against the wall, ankles and arms crossed while he chewed his lips anxiously. That morning had found Ryo staring at his beloved scarf. More accurately, the dried blood that dyed large portions of it a hideous, splotchy brown. Fengyong had been quick to reassure his nephew and called Reborn in a hurry. The handsome man had appeared with Skull in tow and disappeared with both Ryo’s uncle _and_ his scarf. To add insult to injury, Ryo was left to dog-sit.

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon,” Skull tried to reassure him. He immediately looked as though he regretted his decision to speak up when Ryo fixed him with a disdainful glare.

“I don’t care about them being gone,” the boy sneered, slow and halting, like he was talking to a particularly dumb child, and ignoring the way the familiar expression pulled at his busted lips. “I care that they left with _my_ scarf.”

“They’re just getting it cleaned up,” Skull replied with a awkward little grin, shuffling his feet. When Reborn and Fengyong had darted out the door without him he had started crying. Ryo guessed the hotel had bad memories for the man, him nearly dying in it and all.

“But I want to watch,” Ryo huffed, burying his face in his knees. He’d never been separated from his mother, his uncle, _and_ his scarf all at once before. Anxiety curled in his stomach, sitting heavily like a ball of lead crawling through his intestines.

Skull hummed a bit, tilting his head in thought. An idea must have come to him, because he perked up with a cheerful smile. “How about we go shopping to take your mind off of it?” If the man had really been a dog, Ryo swore his tail would be wagging.

“Shopping?!” Ryo spat, curling his lip in disgust. “Don’t be dumb. Shopping means _people_.”

“I’ll get you gelato,” Skull cooed, smiling devilishly and fluttering his eyelashes. Ryo hated that he had such an exploitable weakness. He’d only had the treat twice, but so constantly craved it. 

Maybe this was what addiction felt like. 

With that concept in mind, he could understand why a group of people would try to kill a kid for drugs.

“Get that hideous look off your face,” Ryo sneered, but he got to his feet and limped over, staring expectantly at the other man. If the gelato was bad he’d just kick the man. Skull looked surprised that his tactic had worked, but quickly opened the door for the two of them. 

“And you have to carry me on your shoulders like before. If you let anyone else touch me, I’ll pull all of your hair out.”

Skull smiled indulgently at the injured boy and laughingly agreed, the corners of his eyes crinkling charmingly. The man really was such a clown.

They didn’t take the motorcycle that day. Instead, Skull swung the boy up on top of his shoulders and wandered the streets of Bologna. University students were already crammed into cafés alongside early-rising business workers, eye bags carved deep and desperately taking last minute notes from their textbooks. Winter exams were coming up, Ryo supposed. A small part of him ached in knowing sympathy, but it was easy enough to push those thoughts down and forget about them in the same breath. The streets were bustling with people, heads down and cast in shades of grey with the dim morning light.

The _Piazza Maggiore_ was no different. Locals and tourists hurried about despite the early hour, each caught up in their own lives and worries. December found Bologna’s streets and squares lit up with holiday lights strung up overhead. It wasn’t late enough in the morning for them to turn back off, so they remained on even as the city awoke.

Ryo tightened his fingers into Skull’s hair (his left hand protested the movement) to remain upright as the man barely dodged out of the way of a businessman who was passionately shouting into his phone. The man spun around and began cursing them out loudly, but quickly backed down when Ryo tried to lunge at him with a snarl. The businessman stared, wide-eyed and jaw slack, at Ryo’s face and looked like he was about to remark on something, but Skull tightened his hold on Ryo’s legs, apologized loudly, and hurried on. He stuck to the edges of the streets from then on. 

“Honestly,” Skull sighed, ducking into the first store with an open door to escape the crowds, “You shouldn’t be going after civilians like that. Your face looks terrifying enough, even without the bandages and bruises. He probably thought someone was abusing you!”

“The idiotic animal challenged me,” Ryo sniffed imperiously, “Put me down.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Skull dryly replied, but crouched down to obediently let Ryo hop off. His smart tone earned him a smack to the forehead. “Ouch!” Skull yelped, head snapping back and body following.

“Bad dog,” Ryo frowned, “Learn some manners.”

“Says you!” Skull cried out, looking honestly offended. Ryo ignored him and started glancing around the store. The only other occupant was a bored looking man who was lounging behind an ancient cash register and lazily flipping through a magazine.

“Welcome,” the man droned out without looking up. Ryo bared his teeth anyways. His face ached.

The shop was eclectic, to say the least. Towering, crooked bookshelves lined the walls, shelves bending underneath the weight of countless, thick tomes crammed onto them. There were a few tables with goods spread out on top of them, miscellaneous in nature. Ryo couldn’t see a single price tag. For that matter, was there even a name outside of the shop?

Pushing his thoughts to the side and pleased with Skull’s decision in store, Ryo began to wander the shop, staring intently at anything that caught his eye. The books didn’t seem to have a common theme, ranging from foreign children’s fairy tales to medical textbooks that were focused on treating frogs. The tables were no better. Ryo absent-mindedly poked what looked to be a genuine human skull before pulling out the necklace that was hanging out of the eye socket.

“Look, Skull,” Ryo caught the man’s attention from where he was perusuing the shelves. He held the skull up with a vicious, little grin, “It’s you in a few years.”

“How old do you think I am?!” Skull snapped, ears red. “And put that down! Fon will kill me if you get some weird disease…”

“You’re ancient,” Ryo smirked mockingly at the virtual child in front of him.

_Twenty years old._ Honestly, what a kid.

“I found a collar for you, too,” Ryo continued, tauntingly shaking the necklace that had come with the skull, “Come try it on.”

Skull made a face, but obediently began to walk over. As soon as he had taken a step away from the bookshelf, a massive insect encyclopedia slammed into the ground where he had just been standing. Skull turned to look at where he almost gotten concussed with a horribly pale face, but the cashier just snorted into his book.

Hadn’t he been holding a magazine?

“It might be haunted,” Ryo observed, looking more carefully at the necklace with renewed interest and a raised brow. The necklace itself was plain, brown twine, but the wooden pendant that hung on it looked like something out of a horror novel. Faces upon faces, melting into one another and expressions frozen in abject terror. A sinner’s dying wail.

“Put it down!” Skull shrieked, rushing over and smacking the necklace out of Ryo’s hands. He sent it flying clear across the room and crashing into the wall where it ominously cracked in half. The two of them stared at it in silence.

“Normally, I’d make you pay for that,” the man behind the counter looked up from where he had been studying a snow globe with an expression that screamed amused pity, “But I think breaking it is payment enough…”

“Oh my god,” Skull whispered, looking like he might start crying, “We’re cursed.”

“Good going,” Ryo snipped, “You probably just released a demon or something. And no,” the boy imperiously stared down his nose with a sneer, “_You’re_ cursed. I didn’t do anything.”

The boy walked away to continue exploring while Skull crouched down by the wall and cried, desperately trying to piece the pendant back together again. A decorative sword fell off the wall and buried itself into the ground next to Skull’s feet. Ryo ignored the terrified shriek and cashier’s laughter while he went back to investigating. 

The area he started digging around in looked to be mostly jewelry. The dim light of the shop reflected sharply off of the metal and jewels, refracting harshly and sending strange patterns onto the ceiling and walls. Ryo wasn’t sure if he’d seen his mother wear anything so frivolous, but he wanted to bring her something back from his trip. His eyes landed on a pair of silver hoops that were stabbed through a piece of leather to keep the pair together. He pulled them from the pile, curiously looking at them closer.

They were small, but each had a tiny, white crystal set in silver that hung from them. “Those are pretty cool,” Skull remarked from behind Ryo’s shoulder, voice shaky and face pale even behind his makeup. “You want me to pay so we can hurry and leave this place? I can pierce your ears at the hotel.”

Ryo blinked at the man in surprise. He hadn’t considered them for himself, but Ryo supposed it wouldn’t look horrible. One for him and one for his mother. Ridiculous on a child, sure, but he could grow into it. Ryo looked at the earrings thoughtfully and couldn’t help but blush slightly at the thought of matching with his mom.

The feelings fluttering in his chest were disgustingly mushy.

“Yeah,” Ryo hummed agreeably, ears bright red, but pleased regardless. Another quick scan of the table had Ryo grabbing a weird looking ring that hung from a leather band. It was kind of ugly, band simple silver with a gross looking horn spiraling out of it, but Skull was paying and the store had proven to be full of fun things. The purple haired man tried to pull Ryo to the cashier; a behavior quickly disciplined by burying his sore teeth into the hand grasping his arm.

Skull let go with a yelp, but reached back and swung Ryo up without pause. Ryo hissed in protest, but left it at that. His ribs had been aching from walking around, so being able to sit was a relief. Skull took Ryo’s items from him and laid them on the counter. Curiously, Skull’s weird pendant was not among them. The man didn’t look at any of the items, utterly immersed in the framed picture he was holding.

“Um?” Skull coughed out. Ryo could feel the man’s pathetic shaking.

“Hm? Oh, that’ll be two-hundred euros. Uh, and fifty cents,” the man hummed, eyes raking over the photograph.

“What?!” Skull exclaimed, dramatically staggering back like the showman he was. He acted like he was living in a television show with how cartoonish he could be. “You didn’t even look at what we’re buying!”

The man let out an exaggerated groan, head rolling backwards so he could stare at the ceiling in silence. “Fine,” he groused, squinting at Skull’s face. “Three-hundred euros.”

He still hadn’t looked at what they were buying.

Skull sputtered, but the man’s purposeful glance at the pendant on pieces on the floor had Skull scrambling to pull out his wallet without further complaint. He slammed the necessary bills on the counter, stuffed their purchases into his pockets, and rushed out of the store with Ryo clinging to his head. Ryo glanced back to watch the man waving them off absentmindedly, a landscape painting in hand.

____

“You pierced his ear?”

Fengyong’s tone was as flat as his eyes. Not necessarily cold—simply void of emotion. Skull sheepishly rubbed the back of his head with an awkward grin. The purple haired man was standing at attention in front of Ryo’s uncle while the boy himself curled into Fengyong’s side, hugging his clean scarf to his chest.

“Well…yeah?” Skull’s voice was pitched high in uncertainty. The man himself kept glancing desperately towards Reborn, as if a miracle would occur before his eyes and the other man would discover what sympathy was. It was simply not to be, and Reborn sneered meanly back from where he had draped himself over the arm of the sofa and mimed a noose. 

“Why?” Fengyong didn’t look irritated, just perplexed—as though he had encountered someone who insisted the sky was pink while looking right at it.

“I asked him to,” Ryo decided to throw the man a bone. The poor dog already lived a horribly depressing life. Ordinarily, Ryo would leave him to his fate, but he supposed Skull had indeed been a great source of entertainment. Good behavior should be rewarded, and he’d miss the man if his uncle killed him.

Ryo’s response didn’t answer any of Fengyong’s questions. If anything, he looked more confused, brow slightly furrowed. It was admittedly cute. However, Ryo wasn’t known for making anyone’s life easier (outside of Hibiki’s), so he slid off the sofa like a limp noodle and went to stand before to the purple haired man. “Skull, hold me,” he demanded, lifting his arms. Skull joined Fengyong in confusion, but mechanically obeyed the child’s orders and raised him to his shoulders.

“What.” _Now_ Fengyong looked irritated. Ryo smirked in response and hugged Skull around the head.

“Reborn, I’m taking your dog,” Ryo informed the man. Reborn looked annoyed for a split second before smiling viciously and sinking down into Ryo’s vacated spot, wrapping himself around Fon’s arm.

“Alright, I’m taking your uncle,” he cooed back, sugary sweet like spun candy.

Ryo took a minute to closely look over his uncle with a critical frown. It wouldn’t be a terrible loss. Ryo was sure Skull could feed him as well. Plus, there would be the added benefit of not waking up choking on hair in addition to being able to order Skull around. 

“Hm, alright,” the boy agreed, pleased with the trade off. Reborn didn’t look startled, but it was a close thing. Ryo saw his jaw muscles twitch, after all. “Dog, I’m ready to leave now. I’m tired.”

“Now hold on just a minute,” Fengyong stood up, smiling pleasantly in that way that suggested he was about to break someone’s arm and inadvertently dragging a clingy Reborn up with him. “Unfortunately, _Wàishēng_, familial bonds are not so easily cast aside.” The obscenely strong man shook Reborn off his arm and tried to pull Ryo off Skull’s shoulders. Ryo, predictably, clung tighter to the man’s head in response.

Skull let out a wheezing yelp when Ryo’s legs locked around his throat, teeth bared in a bratty snarl. Fengyong’s ever-present smile fell away as he diligently worked on detaching his horribly stubborn nephew from the man. As soon as one body part was pulled off, another would return with twice the force. It was the world’s worst impression of an octopus, but admittedly effective.

Fengyong stopped pulling when Skull’s choking noises turned into silent gagging and stepped away, folding his arms in his sleeves. “What is this foolishness, Ryo?” He looked a little hurt underneath the irritation. Ryo curled his lip at his uncle, hugging Skull’s head tighter.

“If you’re mean to the dog, I’m running away. _You_ don’t get me gelato,” Ryo informed his uncle with a scowl—it was hard not to laugh. Fengyong was pretty easy to tease. Reborn’s face twisted up (it was still unfairly flattering) as he mouthed the words gelato and Skull let out a startled laugh, breath finally returning to a normal pace.

Fengyong’s face cleared up with understanding and his gentle smile reappeared as though it had never left. “Of course,” he said, “I’ll buy you some tomorrow, and we’ll quit teasing Skull so much. Now, will you please come and sit back down? I want to see what my foolish set member has done to you.”

“Do I still get Fon?” Reborn asked in the background. He was ignored.

Ryo allowed Fengyong to pull him down and back to their seats. “I was just joking, you know,” Ryo felt the need to clarify as he snuggled back into his uncle’s side. “You aren’t so terrible.”

“Of course, _Wàishēng_,” Fengyong hummed as he tilted Ryo’s head to the side to view the cartilage piercing. It had stopped hurting only a few moments after Skull had pulled away with the safety pin and a satisfied smile.

“Besides,” Ryo huffed, sitting back when his uncle released his face. Reborn had migrated to the arm chair and Skull sat at his feet, fiddling with a bracelet on his wrist. “I felt bad for the dog. It’s not every day someone gets cursed.”

Skull went white at Ryo’s words, peeking up at Reborn. The man had leaned forward (was it an instinctual sense for chaos?), a dangerous light in his eyes and a vicious grin pulling at his mouth. “Oh?” Reborn purred. Ryo wasn’t sure who the man was addressing. Given his massive ego, perhaps the world. “What’s this about a curse?”

“It’s nothing!” Skull hurriedly interjected, giving Ryo wide eyed look. The boy supposed there was a hidden message in the dog’s eyes, but he didn’t really care enough to interpret. Ryo shrugged in indifference (it wasn’t his curse to deal with) and shut his eyes, ignoring Reborn when he started ribbing at Skull for an explanation. His uncle began to mess with Ryo’s hair; the feeling of fingers rubbing gently against his scalp had Ryo melting into the familiar touch. The day had been long enough, and injuries always made him irrationally tired.

The painting falling off the hotel room’s wall and nearly braining Skull would have been funny to watch, but sleeping took precedence.

____

“Ryo,” the sharp tone had the boy waking up in a hurry, blinking the sleep out of his eyes with a confused whine. Fengyong was leaning above him, fully dressed and reddish-brown eyes looking oddly illuminated in the dark room. A quick scan of the room showed his uncle’s compact travel bag packed and set next to the open door where Reborn and Skull waited.

“Are we leaving?” Ryo mumbled, pushing himself up with a yawn. His ribs were stiff and ached horribly from sleeping so heavily.

“Just us,” Fengyong wasn’t smiling and the corners of his eyes were tight. Ryo was fully awake in a moment, staring wide-eyed at his uncle. “We’ve been called back for a mission. It’s close enough to the end of the month that Fengmian should be expecting you soon.”

“I’m going back?” Ryo huffed as his uncle grabbed him, oddly enough feeling a bit upset.

“Yes,” Fengyong answered as he lifted Ryo from his place on the bed and sat him on the edge of it. His sweater was pulled over his head and scarf gently wrapped around his neck. Fengyong crammed Ryo’s feet into his sandels and pressed something into his hands before picking him up again. “We bought you a bag to put your things in,” Fengyong explained with a smile as he hurried out the door. Ryo had never owned enough things to carry around in this lifetime.

Reborn led them through the hallways, down the stairs, and out the lobby. A car was waiting at the curb. Skull tried to get in the drivers seat, but Reborn hissed something and kicked the other man in the back of the knee before ducking behind the wheel. Fengyong made a face that told Ryo neither of the men should be driving, but before that could be processed, Fengyong slid into the backseat.

His uncle hadn’t let him go, so Ryo leaned back into the man’s hold in order to watch his face. “Will it be dangerous?” Ryo couldn’t help but ask, shuffling in Fengyong’s lap until he was more comfortable. Fengyong smiled silently back and held Ryo just a bit tighter.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Reborn scoffed, voice as harsh as the sun as he made eye contact with Ryo through the rear-view mirror. He was well put together—of course—even before the sun had risen. Ryo wasn’t sure the man ever slept. 

A quick glance at the clock told Ryo that it wasn’t even five, yet somehow Reborn was as awake and alert as ever. It was pretty gross. Skull seemed to share Ryo’s sentiments, halfway dozing in the front and dressed only in a too-large shirt and sweatpants. “If I’m with him, nothing will so much as _touch_ Fon without my say-so. After all, I’m going to be the World’s Greatest.” The man looked particularly smug at that, black eyes lit up and handsome sneer slashed charmingly across his face.

“That’s probably what he’s worried about,” Skull muttered into his hand, moodily pouting at the driver’s seat and eyes half-lidded.

“It’s like you’re asking me to shoot you?”

“_Children_,” Fengyong sighed, exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Please settle down.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Reborn sniffed prissily before slamming on the breaks. Skull—predictably—wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and went flying forward, face slamming into the dashboard with a horrible crunch and ear-piercing screech. Ryo would have joined him in his journey to the windshield if his uncle wasn’t the human embodiment of a steel beam. 

Muscular arms locked into place around Ryo’s ribs, strong legs bracing against the driver’s side chair with a bestial snarl. All the air in Ryo’s lungs rushed out with a pained wheeze and Ryo swore he heard his bones crack.

“Oops.”

Reborn didn’t look very apologetic at all, smiling cheerfully at the three of them while Skull tried to stem his bleeding nose and Fengyong fluttered his hands over Ryo’s chest in apology. “Here’s your stop, brat. Now get out.”

“I’m going to kill you one day,” Ryo choked out, face pale and hands fisting into Fengyong’s sleeves while the man practically punched him repeatedly in an attempt to comfort and reassure. 

His uncle’s fretting somehow felt more painful than the injury itself.

“Can I join?” The tissues Skull had pressed against his nose were already bright crimson.

“Reborn,” Fengyong scolded gently. Reborn only preened, looking even more pleased at the attention. He leaned into the backseat to open the door from the inside with a mean little grin. “Honestly,” Ryo heard his uncle mutter before the man slid out of the car. Fengyong looked apologetic in the train station’s dim lights, crouching down to let Ryo stand on his own. “Your tickets are in the bag. Just follow the maps.”

Ryo met his uncle’s gaze head on, studying the face of his strange relation. He looked stressed, body tilted towards the car and shoulders tense. Ryo’s chest ached. 

“Okay,” Ryo clutched at his bag a bit tighter, leather creaking under his fingers. “Will you come visit?”

Fengyong’s entire face softened as the man reached down to stroke the side of Ryo’s neck. “Of course,” the man promised, eyes lit up more red than brown in the artificial coloring of the street lamps, “I’ll come see you and your mother after this mess is taken care of.”

The promise, alongside the searing heat of his uncle’s hand, settled the ball of anxiety that had been warping Ryo’s insides. Even so, it felt like something had grabbed Ryo’s heart in a clawed fist and was slowly squeezing.

Fengyong tightened Ryo’s scarf and nudged him towards the station with a private smile. “Have a safe trip. Tell Fengmian I’ll be there soon.”

Ryo scoffed at his uncle’s mushiness, slapping the man’s hands away and stalking off into the station, shoulders raised up to his ears. He heard doors slamming behind him and the car start up, rumbling down the roads once more with Skull’s distinctive voice faintly screaming a goodbye out the window.

Honestly.

____

The train trip back to Catania was long. High speed rail hadn’t quite touched Bologna, so Ryo was stuck being gawked at by old, concerned women for hours and hours. It was easy enough to glare off the more action-oriented passengers and sleep until he reached the ferry. Fengyong had provided plenty of cash for the trip, so a short argument with the ticket-master in Salerno allowed Ryo to board the ferry without any further harassment.

Most of the day had been passed by through gratuitous application of naps. Ryo didn’t have any issue sleeping in odd positions or locations, but it was an odd experience to do so without being propped up against someone. Being alone was a new experience. The majority of people left him alone when he was asleep, so it was an excellent strategy for avoiding conversation with any and all concerned passersby.

Catania’s skyline was a balm for his sore heart, still aching with homesickness. The sight of Mount Etna standing guard over his city had Ryo leaning over the edge of the ship, practically ready to dive in the waters and swim the remainder of the distance. While Bologna had been made pleasant enough with the company of his uncle, Ryo was unable to dredge up any true affection for the city adored by students everywhere. His heart and soul were owned by Catania; its rough patches made it all the sweeter.

Ships took an unfortunate amount of time to reach their destination, so Ryo lingered near the ramp that would allow the ferry passengers to disembark, practically bouncing in place and doing his best to avoid the crowds of people. It had been over a full day since Ryo’s departure from Bologna and he was ready to sleep on top of his mother for three days straight. 

The ship was a noisy thing, creaking and groaning with the weight of cargo and humans. Despite the constant racket, Ryo was greatly enjoying the ocean breeze and stink of decaying fish. It was nowhere near as fun as Skull’s motorcycle, but the fact that the ferry was delivering Ryo home endeared the ship to him.

After what _had_ to be a full hour of waiting, the ferry managed to dock. An explosion of activity took over the ship; sailors were scurrying all over the place, lugging an assortment of tools Ryo had never seen in his lives. Despite the near constant movement, it took an irritatingly long time before the ramp was lowered and the call was made that passengers were allowed to disembark.

Ryo shot down the ramp nearly as soon as it touched the dock, dodging the disgusting, writhing crowds and slipping straight into the familiar, winding alleys. The shadows of Ryo’s home were as comforting as ever, seeming to wrap around him in cool welcome. Ryo refused to decrease his speed, bag held securely to his chest and lilac scarf waving like a victory banner behind him.

A woman smoking a cigarette made a weird face at Ryo when his feet slapped into a puddle and splashed her, but Ryo just growled at her shout and kept going, ignoring her angry cry. He didn’t have time to deal with the rowdy, weak creatures that desecrated Catania’s streets.

A thirty minute walk became a nine minute run, but Ryo swore it felt even longer than it had when he’d originally been dragged down the route by his uncle. A crooked iron gate greeted Ryo with a familiar, horrid screech as he shoved his way through. The black paint had chipped more while he’d been absent. 

The weeds in the courtyard were almost all dead; the autumn chill had fought them back and peeled them back to reveal the cracks in the stone they originated from. The door to the storehouse was the same as it had always been: faded, light brown with a badly aligned, brass door knob.

Ryo pushed his way into his home, pausing in the entry to stare intently into the room and toss his bag to the side of the door. Hibiki looked unsurprised at his appearance, already seated on her stool and knitting away, despite the early hour. Her dark hair had been swept up into a bun to keep it away from her face while she worked, but the oddness of it struck Ryo. She usually wore it down. Her gaze swept over Ryo, brow raising a centimeter at the obvious bruising and bandages.

“Mother,” Ryo greeted, fingers and toes curling excitedly as he forced himself to calmly approach Hibiki. She smiled slightly and set her project aside (something dark brown and chunky) before reaching out to pull Ryo closer by his shoulders. He stood in front of her, trembling in barely-contained excitement while she checked him over and prodded at his injuries. 

Traveling had prevented Ryo from changing his bandages or anything of the sort (although, that failing might have stemmed more from laziness). He hadn’t wanted to spook the prey animals on the train and cause a stampede of stupidity. Despite his well-meaning intentions, Hibiki gave him an unimpressed Look. Ryo ducked his head away and scowled, but even the gentle scolding had warmth blooming in his chest.

The movement must have touched something in his mother, because her silver eyes softened and she pulled him up into her lap to hug him close. “Ryo,” she sighed into his hair as he tucked his head into the crook of her neck and breathed heavily in relief, “Welcome home.”

“Mom,” Ryo couldn’t help but whine, embarrassingly enough feeling tears come to his eyes. Crying was a horrible experience. The lump that never failed to appear was awkward and painful to shove back; plus, the behavior itself was pathetic. It was suited best for weak creatures, not someone intended for strength like himself.

“Silly boy,” Hibiki ran her fingers through Ryo’s hair the way he liked it, “You’ve grown.” She sounded a bit amazed, as though finding Ryo any different from the way she’d left him was unthinkable. 

The feeling was mutual, even though the change in his mother was as simple as a new hairstyle. Ryo pressed his face further into Hibiki’s neck, breathing in the scent of love and home and wondering how he had ever managed to leave.

(Stupid question. It hadn’t even been his decision.)

Hibiki was Ryo’s home in a way Catania would never achieve. If his mother moved the two of them elsewhere, he would surely be horrified, but loosing the city couldn’t even compare to loosing his mother. Fengyong had done his best, but being spoiled with affection didn’t hold the same weight as Hibiki’s practiced and restrained fondness.

Something about desiring the things one lacked.

His uncle had been an interesting surrogate, but nothing compared to the relief of breathing in the scent of Hibiki and home. “What’s so different?” Ryo’s question was muffled, mouth pressed to Hibiki’s shoulder.

His mother hummed in thought, hands gently stroking Ryo’s back and sending warmth through his body. “Well,” she began before teasingly tugging on some of Ryo’s hair. He whined in protest, shaking his head to playfully try to dislodge her. “The braids are new.”

“Braids?” Ryo finally leaned back, face scrunched up in confusion.

Hibiki’s smile was playful, but it held a shadow of razor-sharp iron. “I suppose it’s my dear older brother’s touch,” she murmured, moving the hand that had been messing with Ryo’s hair to tug on his ear. “I certainly wasn’t expecting you to return with a piercing. I was led to believe I would be able to wait a few more years before _that_ became a concern.”

“Oh!” Ryo smiled brightly, leaning into his mother’s touch, “I got one to match with you. It’s in the bag. Skull bought it for us!”

“Skull?”

“A funny dog,” Ryo slipped off his mother’s lap while she laughed lightly at his words and walked the few steps across the room to grab the bag for his mother. She pulled him sideways back on top of her lap and placed the bag between them, arms returning to loop around him.

“Here,” Ryo opened the flap of the bag and started digging through. The contents had been neatly organized when Ryo received the gift (presumably his uncle’s doing), but a day in Ryo’s childish hands had turned the entire thing into a jumbled mess. It had never once been said that Ryo was neat.

It took a few minutes of shifting and squinting, but Ryo retrieved the matching earring and offered it to Hibiki with an anticipatory smile. “Thank you, Ryo,” his mother smiled back with just the corners of her lips, accepting the gift and holding it up to observe it, “Would you be able to put it though my ear?”

“Is it not pierced?” Ryo asked, curiosity getting the best of him as he leaned up to look at her cartilage. Sure enough, there wasn’t a hole.

“No. Just put it in,” Hibiki pulled the small hoop open and handed to it Ryo. 

Skull had been the one to pierce Ryo’s ear. The man had used a lighter to sterilize a safety pin before stabbing it through Ryo’s cartilage without warning. The action had nearly lost the man a finger, but Ryo had gained a shiny new accessory, so Skull had been forgiven after a few more minutes of terrorizing him. 

They didn’t have anything of that sort in the room, so Ryo used blunt force to shove it through.

Hibiki didn’t make a sound, but instead watched him work from the corner of her eyes with a gentle sort of interest. Ryo closed the back of the earring and leaned back into his mother’s arms, staring contentedly up at her. Even now, Ryo was shocked by the level of adoration he held for the woman. Some days, he felt like it was unnatural how he had imprinted so firmly on her, content to stay by her side for the rest of their lives. He wouldn’t leave until she asked him too.

From the look in Hibiki’s eyes as she stared back at him, Ryo doubted she would ever ask.

____

“Ya got sum nerve showin’ up here, brat.”

Pierluigi looked decidedly unhappy. He had a still-healing wound that looked freshly and lovingly etched into his face, arching over his forehead and held together only by the power of butterfly bandages and the will of God. The man’s face was twisted into an ugly scowl that pulled all of his scars and wrinkles into a horrible spiral, emphasizing the fury in his muddy eyes.

“What?” Ryo sneered back, tilting his head up to meet Pierluigi’s gaze, challenge burning through every line of his body. The man was leaning against the garden shop’s doorframe, dressed in baggy clothes; not even the store’s ugly apron could cover his bulging beer belly. “Didn’t you get my vacation notice?”

“Yeah,” Pierluigi spat his dip at Ryo’s feet, grinning harshly at the boy’s furious, disgusted snarl when he leapt away from the offensive substance, “Yer whore mother showed up and tore tha’ place up.”

“Don’t call her a whore,” Ryo immediately squared his shoulders with a growl, jaw rising up in challenge and lips peeling back to bare his teeth. “A filthy snail like you should be flattered she took the time to deal with you.”

“Oh?” Pierluigi cooed in a mocking, sing-song tone, eyes lit up with mocking delight as he leaned in to loom over Ryo, “Is tha’ whatcha call ruinin’ merchandise? Yer lucky I didn’ kill ya th’ second I saw ya.”

Ryo scoffed in dismissal, slipping into the shop through the gap Pierluigi had failed to guard. “As if,” Ryo glanced around the shop with a furrowed brow, “Where’s my cart?”

Pierluigi let out an aggravated groan, smacking a head to his forehead before following Ryo into the shop with a heavy limp. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath and looking as though he wished he knew how to pray, “Rabbie was right…th’ lil rats don’t ever go away once they sink their fangs in.” 

The man limped across the room, cane clacking obnoxiously against the stone floors, to collapse into the chair behind the counter. With an aggravated huff, he tossed a balled up piece of paper at Ryo and leaned back into his chair with a relieved groan. “Tha’ thing’s in th’ alley. I was aboutta take ‘er on a delivery, so she’s loaded up already. ‘M not feedin’ ya since ya skipped out on me. I oughtta shoot ya fer the trouble, but my shoulder’s achin’ something’ fierce today.”

Ryo sniffed prissily at the man, curling his lip in disgust as the man kicked his legs up onto the counter. Filthy animal. Feet were disgusting. “You can try,” he sneered at Pierluigi with a derisive sneer, bending down to snatch the paper up bewteen two fingers before slinking out of the store and trotting into the alley that crept suspiciously alongside the building. 

His cart was waiting in front of the garden shop’s back door, freshly loaded with massive, long clay pots and looking far outside of Ryo’s weight range. Hibiki hadn’t raised a quitter, though, so Ryo straightened out the paper with directions, snatched up the handle, and started hauling.

The damn cart felt like it had been loaded up with cinderblocks, but Ryo wheezed out a breath in exertion, leaned forward, and stamped his way down the alley. Pierluigi’s paper had only had a name: Bosco Caerda. Ryo, as usual, had no clue who the man was, but it was easy enough to find out.

The _Piazzo nonno_ helped Ryo out once more. The elderly man looked more frail than Ryo had left him, but he was as vital a landmark to Catania as the _Chiesa San Benedetto_. Ryo hadn’t ever seen the _Piazzo_ without him seated in the shade, smiling gently at the crowds at chattering to an ever-revolving host of visitors. Ryo was directed by him to a location best known for its bars, but certain people could describe the underground auditoriums that typically hosted weird, fetish peep shows.

Catania’s sea breeze was a balm to Ryo’s sore heart. Bologna was already a faint memory, thankfully. The end of Ryo’s trip had been much more comfortable, but any separation from his beloved town had Ryo aching to return. The district he was yanking his cart though was rough during the nights, but daytime found it just about as pleasant as the rest of the city. Mafia-filled, sure, but was there anywhere in Sicily that wasn’t?

Catania stunk of governmental corruption, but the mafia running the underground had a firm hand on the city overall and kept it running. Of course, this had its own detrimental effects. There was no support for families or quality education; many people were unemployed. Mafia families won loyalty from desperate, young men just looking for a meal. There was reward found in keeping the population needy.

Success in Catania was as simple as having money, but that number was few. For all the people wallowing in the mud, the minority that possessed the city’s wealth could simply deny the issue while stomping poors’ faces even further into the filth. They benefitted, so why would any change be implemented?

Ryo ignored a woman screaming in the faces of her terrified children, spittle flying into their faces, and focused more deeply on his task.

An out of place office building rose above the street, casting a huge shadow onto those passing below. ‘Caerdian Impact’ was scripted on the plaque hung next to the door, modest where the building was not. Ryo checked the spelling with what the _nonno_ had written out for him and, judging it correct, slipped into the space between buildings to head for the back door. His arms were aching horribly from the weight of the wagon…Ryo swore the soreness of his muscles felt worse than they had during his uncle’s workouts. 

A tall, suited man already had the side entrance open by the time Ryo came staggering up, peering down his long nose to study Ryo with obvious skepticism. “You’re the seller?” The man tilted his head in obvious doubt, pulling the door snugly to his side to close any gaps that Ryo could have slipped through.

“No, delivery,” Ryo said, holding up the wrinkled paper he’d been given with Bosco’s name on it. He couldn’t see any important difference between the sheet he was holding and a blank one, but the guard clearly noticed something since he nodded firmly and stepped forward. Ryo’s startled yelp turned to a snarl when the man started patting him down, stubbornly clutching to his knife when the man tried to pull it from his waistband.

“No weapons,” the man explained with a frown, trying to pull the weapon out of Ryo’s grasp, but only grunted when the boy started kicking him in the shins. “Fucking quit it, you little brat!”

“It’s mine!” Ryo argued, viciously snapping his teeth at the man’s hands. 

Screw whatever Fengyong said—teeth were a valid weapon.

The guard’s adult-level strength managed to overpower Ryo’s simple, baby arms and the man lifted the switch blade up high with a victorious noise. What kind of adult felt so satisfied over winning tug-of-war against a kid? “Give it back!”

“No!” The guard looked irritated now, slipping the knife into his own pocket. “The boss’ll have my head if anyone goes in with such an obvious weapon, you horrid brat! You’ll get it back when you leave.”

Ryo twisted his face in irritation and judged the effort versus reward for simply attacking the man and taking back his knife. He’d _just_ gotten it back from his uncle, after all. The man had a gun, though, and Ryo didn’t especially want to deal with an entire criminal syndicate going after him for hurting one of theirs’. 

Grudgingly, Ryo grabbed onto the wagon’s handle (he’d back down for the moment) and yanked it through the door when the man stepped aside. The guard looked pitifully relieved at Ryo’s compliance and followed Ryo inside, shutting the door and going back to gazing through the peephole.

“Down the hall, fourth door to the right,” the man explained without glancing down, “He’ll be the one wearing the crazy hat.”

Ryo didn’t acknowledge the directions, focusing more on the cool, white marble that made up the flooring. The cart made an interesting noise when it rolled, gently clacking over the grout in the tile and echoing all down the hall. 

Ryo counted to the fourth door and paused at it. There was an oddly loud hum of conversation—the kind that only happened where there was a crowd, muted but loud due to sheer volume. Another suited man pulled it swiftly open and stepped aside when Ryo knocked, revealing a small auditorium. Tables draped with white tablecloths were nearly all filled with black-tie individuals, chattering absent-mindedly amongst themselves while they cheerfully dug into plates piled high with steak and fish. 

Instinctively, Ryo wanted to leave immediately. He’d never seen so many people packed into a room—it _stunk_ of copper and stuffiness. The streets were bad enough, but at least the sky was visible and exits were always available. Here, the walls seemed to bulge inwards in stifling confinement and suited men and women stood guard at every exit point.

The door clicked shut behind Ryo before he’d noticed that he had entered, shutting him into the room for good. Ryo fought the urge to bite his lip and continued on, heading for the fat man standing on the stage. The man’s hat had what appeared to be an entire miniature Christmas tree attached to it, lights, ornaments, and all. It even had a cute little star on top.

Bosco Caerda’s cheeks were full and flushed rosy red with either alcohol or joyfulness. Maybe drugs. When he caught sight of Ryo, his eyes widened comically as he let out a childish cheer, rocking back on his heels with arms thrown up excitedly.

“It’s here!” Bosco grabbed onto the sleeve of the long haired man in a white suit next to him and laughed brightly in his face, “Look, _Dottore_! It’s here!” The other man gently removed Bosco’s hand, gentle smile thinly veiling his disgust at the touch.

“Yes, _Signor_,” the man sounded like he was talking to a child, words slightly exaggerated and spoken slowly to allow for comprehension. “I see.”

Ryo came to a stop a few feet away from the men perched above him on the stage and stood there with a scowl, ignoring the flight instinct that was being triggered inside of him. “_Signor_ Caerda?” He asked cautiously, addressing the man whose head was bopping around like a pigeon’s. 

“Yes! That’s me!” The man laughed, sweeping down the stairs in a few steps to grab Ryo’s hand in an exaggerated hand shake. The other man was following at a more sedate pace, narrow eyes sweeping over the boy thoughtfully. Ryo couldn’t bite back the offended snarl, snatching his hands to his chest and leaping several steps backwards to put space between him and the client.

“Don’t touch!” Ryo snapped irritably, shoving his hands up and under his scarf. He nodded his head sharply at the cart, upper lip peeling back to show off his canines. “There’s your order. Sir.”

Bosco Caerda was successfully distracted from his offense at being shaken off, bodily flinging himself at the wagon and laughingly beginning to dig dirt out of the pots. The man seemed to have more than a few screws loose. 

Bosco’s conversational partner stood before Ryo with a gentle, toxically sweet smile, eyes lit up in a way that made feel Ryo like he was being appraised as a chunk of meat at the market. He wasn’t very tall, but his gauntness seemed to elongate his limbs into a spidery sort of awkwardness. Long brown hair was swept back from his skinny face in a low ponytail and secured with a gold clip, showing off sharp cheekbones that spoke of hunger and piercing blue eyes.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the man greeted Ryo with a relaxed smile, just barely covering up the slime that lurked behind his thin, papery white lips. The man stunk of copper and lies. “My name is Clemente. And you are?”

Ryo curled his lip at the man, deigning not to answer. A man like that was no good, especially when Ryo wasn’t able to fight back—he was in enemy territory. “_Dottore_!” Bosco suddenly cried out, falling back from the carts, covered in dirt and cradling a huge gun almost lovingly. Ryo glanced, startled, at the pots. All of the dirt and plants had been torn out of one of the long planters, which evidently had been disguising the weapon. “Look at it!”

“I see,” Clemente replied dryly, looking like a fed up parent—though his eyes held genuine malice rather than the good natured irritation of a fond caregiver.

“Elario!” Bosco yelled, grin stretching his wide face into something cartoonishly sick, “Bring out the dummies! The main course is here!”

Bosco climbed back onto the stage, humming hitch-pitched and off key. The audience began to whisper excitedly at the sudden appearance of the gun; those standing settled back down into their seats as an eerie tension filled the room. Ryo made a face when more suited men mobbed the cart and began to dump the planters. Couldn’t they take the pots off of the carts so he could leave?

“Would you like to stand with me?” Clemete put a hand on Ryo’s shoulder from behind, startling him into stepping forward towards the stage. Ryo scowled furiously back at the man and opened his mouth to angrily tell him off, but the skeleton-like man just smiled and put a finger to his lips to shush Ryo.

Caught up as he was in offense at being treated like a common child, Ryo missed his opportunity to spin out of the man’s grip and dart out of the room, wagon be damned. The lights in the room dimmed, guards moving to fully block the doors, and Clemente stepped close enough to Ryo that he could feel the man breathing against him.

Bosco began to address the audience, grating voice yammering on about the beauty of the weapon and apologizing for its filthy state. The audience _ooh_-ed and _ahh_-ed in an appropriately admiring manner, but when a hooded and struggling body was dragged on the stage, the group turned from shoe-licking bunnies to ravenous wolves.

“Looking is fine and all,” Bosco giggled like a schoolgirl, but the blush on his face wasn’t the sweet sort, “But wouldn’t we all prefer to see it in action?”

The crowd roared at the words, stomping their feet and shrieking for action, sharks circling around the scented blood in the water. Ryo couldn’t help but freeze, Clemente’s fingers clamping bruisingly over his right shoulder and fingertips digging into his collarbone. No one was looking at them, but Ryo felt targeted. The walls were closing in, trapping him in the cage with the mad rats who were just beginning their riotous writhing.

Ryo watched the show on the stage without hearing Bosco’s words. An odd, numb ringing had drowned the man out; all he could focus on was the muffled screaming of the hooded figure and the hand on his shoulder doing its best to function as a restraining collar. The man’s thumb was circling firmly into the meat between Ryo’s neck and shoulder in a mockery of a soothing massage.

For all the man’s foolishness, Bosco was quite the showman. He teased the audience, caressing the trigger and poking the victim with chaotic laughter. The people watching were practically wailing at the man, clapping their hands and screaming for him to shoot. The hooded man(? Woman?) was shaking enough to be seen, even from where Ryo stood, muffled muttering unable to be comprehended due to both distance and, presumably, a gag.

Maybe it was the Lord’s prayer.

Bosco worked the audience to a fever pitch, laughing boisterously when they began to throw their forks and knives onto the stage. Ryo watched wads of cash, bracelets, and even a pair of panties land on the stage, falling at Bosco’s feet as he stroked the flames even higher. 

Watching the person die was quite anticlimactic. Bosco did it at the height of the audience’s fevered wailing, breaking the tension with an earth-shattering gunshot even as they roared even louder. The victim seemed to die quickly, at least. Headshots tended to encourage that.

It was different than watching Reborn shoot drug addicts in an alleyway. That had felt justified—they had been willing to kidnap and harm what they believed to be a child for drugs. They made the decision to fight, and, consequently, they were killed. That was the price of challenging the strong, but their death had still held a vague sense of nobility in the aftermath of a fight.

This was brutal, sadistic murder, plain and simple.

Clemente’s fingers dug into his skin even tighter and, drawn into the scene on the stage as he was, Ryo couldn’t do much more than stand still in mute, enchanted silence.

The body was dragged off the stage, ragged blood trail tracing out the path the body had taken. A new hooded figure was brought out to replace it, this one skinnier and obviously younger, but screaming for mercy, nonetheless. The crowd was still excited, desperately hooked on the murders and agonizing for the next as a new gun was slipped into Bosco’s hands and the exhibition began anew.

The event continued for an unknown amount of time, but when Ryo finally exited the building it was with shaky legs, his knife, a fresh bruise blooming on his shoulder, and pockets full of cash.

____

When Ryo stumbled into the storehouse, it had long passed sunset and he was ready to collapse into bed. The shadows had already enveloped the courtyard, covering up the deep crevices that were gouged into the stone and housed only weeds and bugs. Hibiki was sitting motionless on her stool, eyes fixed blankly on the paper grasped tightly in her hands.

She didn’t greet Ryo, or acknowledge his presence in really any way aside from twitching a bit when he gently tapped her shoulder with a curious hum. She seemed surprised to see him, blinking slowly and mechanically—_dumbly_—while she reached out to rub his cheek with an absentminded noise. Ryo leaned into the touch, as always, before stepping forward to lean into her side.

“Mom?” he asked, confused when she made no move to hug him back or otherwise scold him for getting too close without waiting for permission.

She let out a shuddering breath, frightening Ryo, before dropping her head down to press her forehead on the top of Ryo’s shoulder. “Ryo,” she whispered, sounding so uncharacteristically weary and fearful that Ryo immediately tensed up enough to make his muscles complain with the effort. The paper crinkled in her hands as she tightened her grip. It looked like it had seen better days, suggesting Hibiki had been putting it through some abuse before settling down to stare at it.

Ryo couldn’t quite identify the strange undertone to her voice.

“What’s wrong?” Ryo asked, voice small and not daring to move in fear of her falling to the ground. The entire situation was utterly foreign; his mother had never been anything other than calm, composed, and absolutely lethal. Seeing her like this was odd. She looked strangely—

Broken down.

“Ryo,” she repeated, more like a reassurance for herself than anything. She finally wrapped her arms around him, but leaned her weight more fully onto his aching body. “Fengyong has been killed.”

_Ah_, Ryo realized, _That tone is horror._

Ryo thrashed, but Hibiki’s arms locked down around him and kept him pinned to her side as he tried to rip himself away and dart out of the room. “_Ryo_,” she snarled, low and vicious, a familiar, dangerous light appearing in her eyes. Ryo froze, trembling, but refusing to even twitch.

Prey instincts could be troublesome, after all.

“What?” he replied, voice strangely cracking.

“He’s dead,” Hibiki wasn’t shaking; she just sat unnaturally still, even as her heart thundered erratically against Ryo’s chest, loud enough to feel like drum beats slamming into him. “An informant just sent the message a few hours ago. His entire set has disappeared into thin air; they haven’t been seen since they left the town they all met up in.”

“What?”

“This is a dangerous time, Ryo,” Hibiki continued on, ignoring him. She sounded lost and Ryo was reminded, for once, of how young his mother actually was. She seemed so knowledgeable and prepared that it slipped past him unacknowledged most of the time. 

But here she was, grieving and unable to express it, just like a damaged child. Ryo couldn’t judge her too harshly, his body seemed utterly confused on how to react.

He wanted to run until his legs fall off. He wanted to fight someone. He wanted to hide in some dark corner of the world until all of the horrible, scary parts disappeared and all that was left behind was him and the things he loved.

Ryo really just wanted his uncle.

“His set was made up of a lot of powerful people. Their vacancies will be creating a lot of instability in the underworld. We,” Hibiki faltered, almost a stutter, “I may have been too forward in your month away. The Triads will know where I am and that I have you. Fengyong was meant to keep them away, but…”

She trailed off and buried her face in Ryo’s hair, exhaling heavily enough that it sounded like a whine. Her hands trembled a bit where they pressed against Ryo’s back, sending searing heat into him like a brand. “I’ll keep you safe,” she whispered into his hair, “I swear it.”

Ryo clung tighter to his mother and desperately tried not to cry. She lifted him up and brought the two of them to their shitty mattress, collapsing with him held to her chest. Ryo bit into his hand when all the horribly embarrassing noises that he couldn’t push back began to escape from him. Hibiki hugged him tighter and pulled the blanket over both of their heads, curling around him as best as she could.

“_We’ll be alright_,” Hibiki whispered, slipping into her mother tongue. It seemed like she couldn’t even convince herself, though, because she turned her face into the pillow and didn’t move from there. Ryo shoved himself closer to her, teeth releasing his abused hand to curl his fingers under his mother while he pressed his cold nose into her neck.

Hibiki laughed weakly, an unsure hand going to Ryo’s head to finger the small braids there, as if to reassure herself of some truth Ryo hadn’t discovered. They fell asleep like that, twisted together and silently aching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> life is WHACK. let's just leave it at that.
> 
> sorry for the gap between updates! to be honest, the actual chapter was finished two weeks ago, but i hated it so much that i essentially rewrote the bulk of it hehe...it had such awkward pacing and i didn't want to post a solid 15k of awkwardly written crap. 
> 
> good news: a good chunk of the next chapter is written  
bad news: i can already tell i'm going to hate a lot of it and have to fix a good amount
> 
> well, thank you all for your patience! your comments are all so lovely and i want to have long conversations with all of you, but i feel so awkward responding ;_;
> 
> just know that i read them all and am so, so flattered that anyone would even enjoy this lovely brand of self-indulgence.
> 
> i just never seem to know what to say back, in terms of replying to comments. i love answering questions, though! please feel free to ask away. you all are so wonderful.
> 
> well, thanks for reading! stay safe, everyone!


	6. matripotestal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> matripotestal: of, like, or pertaining to the power of mothers

“Were you ever going to tell me I was delivering weapons?”

Pierluigi glanced up from his porn magazine, singular good eye gazing down at Ryo. “Why would I?” he snorted, scratching the back of his head with an appreciative groan. “It’s not like ya needed ta know.” 

“And when the military police picked me up for smuggling?” Ryo snapped, crossing his arms across his chest and tapping his foot expectantly. He didn’t even want to _be_ there, chest aching to hurry back to Hibiki.

Dragging himself out of the storehouse had been more difficult than Ryo had expected. Hibiki had been horribly despondent, refusing to get up and doing her best to keep Ryo under the covers with her. Pulling away had felt almost like he was yanking out teeth, but regardless of grief, the world carried on and Ryo had questions.

“Who’d pick up a pretty lil street rat like ya?” Pierluigi cackled, “Ya look harmless in th’ shop’s getup.”

“I’ll show _you_ harmless,” Ryo snarled, clenching and unclenching his fists to try and keep calm. He refused to play into Pierluigi's hands and let the man provoke him. It always just ended with him getting held down and laughed at. Pierluigi was oddly strong for a half-dead, old pervert.

“Aw, ‘m touched!” With a final cough, Pierluigi threw his magazine down on the counter and leaned back in his chair to stretch with a filthy groan. “Well, th’ cat’s outta th’ bag, so why don’cha jus’ go on an’ take today’s delivery. Name an’ food’s on th’ cart.”

“No.” Ryo unfolded his arms and tilted his head back to meet Pierluigi’s cold gaze with his own poisonous scowl.

“Hm?” Pierluigi got to his feet, face twisting up into a hideous caricature of barely-concealed, mocking fury. “Is th’ lil brat makin’ a stand fer himself?”

“I suppose I am,” Ryo sniffed, imitating his uncle’s politest, lethal grin. “I quit.”

Part of him (a large part) was hoping for a fight. Since returning to Catania, Ryo had only been reminded of his own status as a weak child. Fengyong had taught him how to fight, but Ryo hadn’t had a chance to implement those lessons.

Thinking of his uncle had grief tearing up the back of his throat, threatening to rip him in two down the midline of his body, so Ryo shoved the memories down and buried the terrible emotions that accompanied them, throwing the key underneath bloodlust and fury. He’d drown himself in violence if it meant that he didn’t have to think about anything again. 

So, with aching teeth (and a burning throat), Ryo slid his feet into a more secure position and relaxed. If Pierluigi tried to stop him from leaving, Ryo would be happy to destroy his good leg in a permanent sort of way. As she was, Hibiki wouldn’t even care. She’d just tug him close with a quiet hum and be content to hold him in all-consuming silence once again.

“Ya silly brat,” Pierluigi laughed, lighter than Ryo had ever heard from the man. He seemed to be holding his thunderous fury and scathing commentary back, but the line of tension in the man’s body hadn’t disappeared. “Quittin’ this sorta job…it’s not really possible, ya feel?”

“Who’s gonna stop me?” Ryo sneered back. He couldn’t stop the almost-laugh that bubbled up, amazed at the man’s audacity. The wound Hibiki had left on the man hadn’t even fully scarred over...how quickly fools forgot the lessons taught to them by their betters.

Pierluigi scoffed, leaning against the countertop with a bitter grin. “It’s notta matter of who’s gonna stop ya,” the older man seemed to give up a bit, collapsing back onto his chair and raising his magazine to cover his face, “It’s a matter of who’s gonna hunt ‘cha down when ya got no one at yer back. Lil brats like you are in high demand, ya know.”

“Oh, please,” Ryo spat, “The only protection I’ve gotten is from my mother. You've offered nothing.”

“Sure, kid.” Pierluigi refused to look at Ryo again, holding the magazine so close to his face that Ryo was sure the man couldn’t even see the pictures. “Now get out. If I ever see ya again, I’ll cut yer thumbs off myself.”

“Like you could!” Ryo bristled at the threat, but took the dismissal as it was and spun around on his heels to dart out of the shitty, little garden shop. 

He wouldn’t be wasting his time any longer when Hibiki was waiting for him.

____

Winter chill playfully nipped at Ryo’s fingers as he crouched near the fish market. Despite it being early enough that the most stubborn drunks were still stumbling home, plenty of people occupied the square. He still wasn't sure how they tolerated being in the writhing, chaotic crowds. Shutting his eyes, Ryo breathed in the scent of salty air and took in the rambling, lyrical dialect of his home town that was being shouted all around him.

He didn’t have a particular reason for being out, aside from wanting to breathe the fresh air. The storehouse had become uncomfortably stifling in the past few days, air heavily laden with the scent of stagnant grief and pungent fear. Ryo rested his chin on his knees, hugging his legs to his chest and watching the crowd with the half-lidded, lazy stare of a bored hunter.

His gums itched.

Ryo groaned to himself, childishly exaggerated in the face of his irritation. Hibiki wasn’t there to scold him for it, anyways.

“Excuse me?”

The voice cut straight through the crowd, piercing and feminine. Ryo’s head snapped to the side, a bit embarrassed that someone had overheard him. For a moment, he considered getting irritated about it, but trying to stir that particular monster didn’t seem to get a response. He just wanted to nap in Hibiki’s arms for a million years and never wake up again.

Curly, brunette hair artfully flying in ever direction and smooth, dark skin rang a faint bell in Ryo’s memory. The gorgeous woman was grinning at him, stepping closer by the second. Her name came back to him almost as soon as she came to a stop in front of him, skirts fluttering in the breeze.

“Diane?” Ryo asked, cautiously, quickly standing straight so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck back quite so far. The height disadvantage stemming from his unfortunate age was becoming more and more irritating as the days passed, but the feeling disappeared almost as soon as it has tried to rise up.

“Diana,” she corrected. “And…Rio?” Diana looked a bit sheepish at her forgetfulness, a slim hand rising to grasp at the opposite arm’s elbow.

“Ryo.” 

He wasn’t sure why a previous customer had greeted him in public—or, rather, he was surprised to have been acknowledged at all. Street brats were typically ignored until one caused trouble, then no one really cared what happened to them. Trash was disposable.

“What a pleasant surprise! I wasn’t sure if it was actually you. It’s been a while, but you’re pretty difficult to forget.” Diana laughed, as though she had told the world’s funniest joke. Unsure of what to say to someone who wasn’t antagonizing him, Ryo twisted his mouth up and stayed quiet, tucking his hands up and under his scarf.

An awkward silence fell over the pair of them, Ryo staring blankly at the elegant woman and Diana’s smile freezing in place. Like divine intervention, a man heavily laden with shopping bags ran up to the pair of them, leather shoes slapping against the horribly paved road and face bright red from exertion.

“_Signora_!” He panted, “Please don’t run off like that! _Signore_ Benedetti would have my head if I lost you.”

“Oh, Andre,” Diana's voice was flat as she turned to face the suited man with a horribly sharp smile that wordlessly demanded the man to fuck right off. Ryo was suitably impressed. “Savvie would do no such thing. That man is a huge baby. And don’t kid yourself: _I_ would be the one loosing _you_, silly man.”

The man looked pained, lips pressing together as if he had bitten into a lemon while thinking it was an orange. 

“Anyways!” The woman spun around, meeting Ryo’s cautious expression with a bright, cheerful smile. It was all for naught, though—Ryo had already spotted the shark that played at being a dolphin lurking in the shallows behind her teeth. Kind expressions and frivolous actions meant nothing when someone’s true, predaceous nature had already been displayed with the flash of a canine and an agonizingly gentle word. “Care to walk with me?”

Ryo really, really didn’t want to.

“Mmm,” he agreed instead, locking his lips together to keep himself from showing off his own teeth. The last thing he needed was to offend someone with an accidental threat display when Hibiki was indisposed and unable to help him out of any disasters of his own design.

Diana didn’t seem to notice his reservation and leaned forward, boldly snatching Ryo’s hand and tugging him to her side as she moved along, loyal bag-man trotting a few paces behind. Ryo grit his teeth but couldn’t help the growl, hand tensing noticeably and shoulders rising to his ears. Diana let him go without a word, only smiling apologetically down at him while they walked and she chattered away at him, expression bright.

“So, what have you been up to?”

“Drugs,” Ryo responded dryly, glancing up at her from the corner of his eyes and slipping his hands into his pockets (the ones he forgot about half the time—his scarf was much more convenient). Diana let out a startled laugh, corners of her open mouth twitching slightly as she tried to decide if he was joking her not.

Ryo kept his expression flat and wished her hair was messy purple or spiky black (or brown, long, and braided).

“A-aah,” she laughed awkwardly, “That’s nice.”

Another silence fell, more tense than the first.

“You got married, right?” Ryo decided to throw her a bone, scuffing his sandals on the ground in order to kick a pebble. It flew a few feet, clattering nosily in front of them.

“Oh,” Diana’s expression darkened a bit. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Ryo hummed a bit, striking the pebble again when it dared to enter kicking distance. Once again, it rolled to a step a few feet away. 

Kick, roll, stop.

Kick, roll, stop. 

Kick, roll, stop.

Ryo wondered if it was challenging him.

“It wasn’t really supposed to happen,” Diana finally continued, desire to gossip outweighing any lack of enthusiasm on Ryo’s part. He hummed in response, skulking along by her side and wondering when he could slip off. It was unlikely he’d see her again if he could just get away. Continually scanning the crowd for the perfect break in the mass of people for him to disappear through, Ryo continued to half-heartedly listen.

Kick, roll, stop.

“My father ordered it. Savvie’s just my friend, but the Benedetti Family is filthy rich,” she sighed a bit, arms sweeping up to cross loosely over her stomach. “Our Family took a lot of hits in the past few years and we lost a lot of ground. I married Savvie so that my dad could live comfortably. In return, the Benedetti got the remainder of our resources and me.” Throwing her head back, Diana laughed, the light, feminine noise uncomfortably bitter. “I should’ve expected it, really. Women really aren’t any better than pawns in their horrible, violent games.”

Kick, roll, stop.

Ryo frowned up at her, hesitantly leaning away from the woman. Somehow, she screamed danger, even more so than any predator Ryo had met—she was a creature that had been pinned down and its fangs ripped out, forcibly broken down and made back up to helplessly rely on others without a defense. 

He wondered when she’d snap and bite down, regardless of her bloody, useless gums. Threatened animals were the most dangerous, after all. The slightly manic look in her eyes told Ryo that it likely wouldn’t be long. With a shuddering sigh, the building, violent light in her eyes disappeared. Carefully—delicately—Diana boxed up the resentment and packaged it up, hiding it down, down, down until Ryo wasn't sure if it had even been there in the first place. Out of sight, out of mind.

Once again, she was smiling cheerfully, the picture of feminine elegance.

“Sorry about that,” she giggled lightly, “I’m not quite sure what came over me.”

“Ah.”

Kick, roll, stop.

Stop.

Ryo couldn’t meet her eyes while they stood still, cautious at her obvious instability. Months ago, he couldn’t even speak through his embarrassment due to this stranger’s insincere, singular compliment. Now, he looked at that same stranger and asked himself what her life would have been like if, instead of accepting the marriage, she had denied her father. 

They probably wouldn’t have managed to so thoroughly defang her and Diana might have been able to continue living independently, without the unwanted chains of marriage and filial duty trapping her. Ryo wondered what woman he would have met sobbing in the back room instead.

(He wondered if he could have saved his uncle if he hadn’t obeyed and gotten on the train.)

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryo spotted a break in the crowds. While Diana was distracted with fully containing herself, he ducked down and away, weaving through legs and choking back disgust at the people brushing up against him.

He wasn't interested in someone who was content to live a lie.

____

Hibiki didn’t so much as twitch when Ryo slipped into the storehouse. She was lying, dead eyed, on the mattress and staring blankly at the wall. Concern sat heavy on Ryo’s breastbone, weighing him down and tugging him to kneel at her side. Gently, he tried to shake her shoulder.

“Mom?” Ryo leaned over her to put his face in her field of vision. She jerked violently at the sight of his face, hands flying up to flutter about her face, as though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to cover her eyes and hide or caress Ryo’s cheek. He made the decision for her, gently catching one of her hands in both of his and pressing it to his face.

“_Gēgē_,” she choked out, other hand reaching out to join its twin in holding her son’s cheeks.

“Mother,” Ryo repeated, sucking on his bottom lip and ignoring the anxiety hanging low in his gut, “I’m Ryo, remember?”

Her eyes seemed to clear up and cloud in equal measure. Clarity returned, only to be struck down with despair once again. “_Feihong_,” she whispered, hands slipping to the back of Ryo’s neck and pulling him down on top of her. “_Aah, you look so much like him._”

Fear choked back the words that nearly slipped out. 

“_Really?_” Ryo whispered instead. “_Could you tell me about him?_”

“_Mmm,_” Hibiki hummed, gently and absentmindedly stroking Ryo’s back while she thought. “_Fengyong was always the sort of brother who was unrelenting. He’s the eldest out of the three of us, so I suppose he took it upon himself to protect Fengyun and myself from the darker aspects of the Triads. He ended up working for them after awhile and, while he was gone, I ended up pregnant with you._”

Ryo took in a shuddering breath, curling his fingers into his mother's blouse and wondering when she has last changed it.

At least talking was better than that wretched silence.

Hibiki laughed bitterly and carded her fingers through Ryo’s hair, breath hitching slightly and heartbeat slamming like a brand into Ryo’s chest. “_Honestly, I never intended on having children; that was more my sister’s goal. Fengyun and I feared for our lives when we discovered the pregnancy. Somehow, you stubbornly clung to life, despite everything I tried. We weren’t sure when Fengyong would return and, if it was learned that I carried a child, we would surely all be killed. Fengyun and I ran away separately. She fled with a lover from a branch family, and I came here to hide. Of course, I didn’t manage it for too long, hm?_”

With a scoff, Hibiki tilted her head further back, baring a lily-white throat. A thin scar stretched under her jaw from ear to ear, made faint from years of age. “_We’ll have to leave soon, Ryo,_” she whispered, relaxing her neck and staring blankly at the ceiling. Her metallic eyes were flat, less polished silver and more scuffed iron.

Despite her intentions of speaking about his uncle, she hadn't really said anything at all.

Was she going to be like this forever?

Ryo hated how grief was warping her. She had stood so mightily in his mind’s eye: resilient, unbeatable, all-powerful. Now he was being forced to reconcile that image of her with the shattered thing she had collapsed into. He shoved his cold nose into the crook of her neck and matched his breathing to the shallow movements of her chest. His heavy heart sat on a thick tongue, ready to spill out his reproach and further burden his mother.

Stubbornly, Ryo bit down on his tongue and refused to let the words leave. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t even dare. Hibiki would tug his ears and scuff the back of his head and express her disapproval with a strict eyebrow raised. Part of him wanted to poke and prod and aggravate his mother until she responded normally, but he was scared of the other option, the one where she simply laid still and stared back at him with those horribly empty eyes. He feared the future where his mother would never leave the bed again and would simply waste away in hopeless despondency until one day Ryo would come back to a skeleton, long gone and bleached white by the sun.

He could feel her bones pressing against him, ribcage rising and lowering in time with her breathing and feeling like a curse being whispered into his skin. Ryo laid on top of Hibiki for awhile more, until her breaths evened out and the wild heartbeat that had shuddered a terrible song against him smoothed itself out into something more calming to listen to.

Ryo slipped off his mother, taking a moment to pause and study her face. Asleep, she looked almost dead. Days spent languishing in bed gave a sick pallor to her face and inattention towards hygiene lent a dull tone to previously shiny, dark hair. Ryo stroked her hair once, touch lighter than gossamer to avoid waking her, then crawled across the room to the bag Fengyong had left him with.

The two of them hadn’t spent much time pursing through, so it was largely untouched outside of the mess Ryo had made of it while searching for Hibiki’s earring. As quietly as he could, Ryo began to pull things out of the bag. There were several small pouches and envelopes, but Ryo was mostly interested in the ring he found at the bottom of the bag. It was something of an impulse decision. Namely, a decision made to irritate Skull and make his wallet ache a bit.

Frankly, the ring was absolutely hideous. Ryo had felt a little bit sorry for such an ugly thing when he saw it. After all, who would voluntarily buy something like it? The same emotions had been teased up by the weird pendant Skull has broken.

(Ryo stubbornly shoved down the momentary devastation he felt when thinking of the silly man.)

The shop had certainly had quite a few intriguingly odd products. Ryo held the ring up to the retreating sunbeams that still shone through the windows. The sunlight bent around it, as if to said _they_ certainly wouldn’t be touching such a horrid thing. A slight chill crept through Ryo’s fingers where they were clenched around the thing, as if to warn off any sensible living creature.

Of course, Ryo had no such life-sustaining sensibilities. Taking the warning as a challenge, Ryo slipped the ring onto his thumb. It was way too large and hung loosely off of his finger. The horn that spiraled off the top of the ring obeyed the law of gravity and swung upside down as soon as Ryo let go, swiping at his palm and drawing blood as it went.

Snarling at the inanimate object, Ryo ripped it off and threw it back into the bag. He lifted his bleeding palm to his mouth to clean it up, mortally offended that the ring had the audacity to harm him. The wound didn’t seem too bad—it stopped bleeding nearly as soon as it had started, so all Ryo really had to do was clean off his palm by rubbing it on the ground. 

Scowling down at the rest of the items from the bag, Ryo decided that he’d deal with them another day and hurriedly slipped under the covers with Hibiki. To ward off the chill that continued creeping up his hands and encroaching on his forearms, Ryo shoved his arms underneath Hibiki, pushing away thoughts of predators bleeding from their empty gums and settling in with a light sigh. He’d try to get her out of bed again another day.

____

Ryo wondered why his luck was so horrible.

Perhaps the pendant had cursed him as well, but Ryo suspected his brand of bad luck was more of a lifelong, karmic balance sort of thing. Ryo wasn’t exactly sure what he had done to deserve it, but surely there was _some_ explanation for it. Otherwise, there was absolutely no reason for Ryo to be running into half-met strangers what seemed like every time he left the house.

Clemente smiled at Ryo, the air around him sickly sweet and cloying the air with its damp, chemical toxicity. The man was standing near the gelato stall, tall and gaunt, face stuck in a scarecrow’s wide, fixed grin. Ryo wondered if that meant he was the crow and, if so, why he hadn’t fled.

“Ryo,” the man had the audacity to look pleasantly surprised, but the clinical light in his eyes and the slight curl of his scarred lips was as good as any warning label. “It’s nice to see you again!”

The excitement in the man’s voice certainly wasn’t faked, lilting and dry in its broken, musical tone. Ryo remained silent, hand carefully resting on the knife hanging from his waist and forcibly relaxing his shoulders. The lack of response must have irritated the man, because his smile twisted into something a bit more like a promise of pain.

“It’s polite to greet others, Ryo,” the man continued on, seemingly ignoring the fact that he was carrying the conversation on all by himself. The streets weren’t empty, but most people were hiding from the cool, December sun in cafés, chilly fingers wrapped tightly around mugs of coffee.

The man stepped closer to Ryo, smiling kindly with a flash of dagger-sharp teeth as he approached. With every step, Ryo’s grip tightened on his knife, but something inside of him quailed and quivered. Shrieking in his ears growing louder by the moment, Ryo stared, wide-eyed, as Clemente crouched down to match his height. His hand trembled from tension where it grasped the switchblade.

_Just pull it out._

“Honestly,” Clemente chuckled softly, and Ryo wondered if he was the only one who could hear the glass hidden in the sound and smell the stink of putrid, rotted blood hanging around the man like a cloud. The passerby’s didn’t seem to notice, but Ryo couldn’t focus on anything else. “Such a rude child!”

Just _move_.

This close up, Ryo could see that the man’s thin lips looked like they had been sewed together at some point, puckered and slightly distorted around the edges from the scar tissue. The man’s skeletal hand reached forward and grabbed Ryo by the chin, mockingly nodding Ryo’s head up and down for him, as if it were on a hinge.

“Yes, _Dottore_,” Clemente mocked in a high-pitched voice, fingers tightening into a bruising grip and digging into Ryo’s cheeks. “It’s good to see you as well.” 

The man leaned back a bit to admire the way the skin dimpled and reddened under his command, an amazed smile flickering over the corners of his lips. “I’m glad I got to see you today. I made sure that I would, but I’m happy nonetheless.” As Clemente spoke, he casually examined Ryo, holding the boy’s face still with one hand and pulling an eyelid up and out of the way with the other.

A snarl was stuck in Ryo’s throat, sluggishly frozen, just like the rest of him. His shoulders felt outrageously heavy, like the man was holding him firmly by the shoulders and shoving him towards the ground. Ryo’s knees were locked to keep him from falling over, but despite his silent urges, his traitorous body remained painfully still.

“I’m so glad I found you when I did,” Clemente sighed, relieved, while he caressed Ryo’s lymph nodes, “I had almost lost hope that I would find one of you so young.”

Ryo’s finger managed to twitch, but something similar to fear was making its home inside of him, a heavy lump sitting under his diaphragm and interfering with his ability to breathe in anything other than quick, shallow movements.

“Just when I was about to give up, you appeared like a ray of light!” Clemente laughed at himself, obnoxiously loud. His blue eyes were light enough that Ryo could stare through them and look directly at the hideous monster that lingered in Clemente’s orbital sockets, making a snack of his optical nerve and slithering forward in anticipation.

Ryo was pretty sure his knees were shaking. From anger.

(Terror?)

“Aah,” Clemente tried to coax, chuckling to himself when Ryo’s mouth remained clamped shut. The man shoved a thumb into the corner of Ryo’s mouth, lifting his upper lip to inspect his teeth before jamming a finger alongside Ryo’s cheek to wedge his mouth open from the back. “You’ve really saved me a lot of trouble, you know? I thought for sure we’d have to outsource, but it seems like my timing was pretty lucky.”

Humming to himself, Clemente peered down Ryo’s throat before he tested Ryo’s canine’s sharpness against his thumb. The man’s blood tasted like poison, burning against Ryo’s tongue and searing the taste into his memory. Satisfied, Clemente leaned back and smiled at Ryo, letting the boy’s mouth shut with a none-too-gentle pat against the cheek from a hand that felt like sandpaper. 

With the way it burned, Ryo thought to himself that it was tearing his skin up. The man’s entire body seemed to be pointy and toxic, delicately and badly-hidden behind a sheer veneer of goodwill and false cheer. Ryo couldn’t look away from the man’s haunted eyes, despite the heaviness that dragged at him and begged Ryo to lie down and sleep. Had he been drugged?

The man stared back, hand remaining on Ryo’s cheek as he gently stroked the boy under his eye with his thumb. It felt disgustingly similar to what Hibiki did (at least, used to) to comfort him. Righteous, offended fury flaring up, Ryo’s hand finally responded and drew the switchblade with a sharp whistle. 

The blade whipped out as Ryo swung it, sharp edge tearing horizontally across Clemente’s arm a little behind the wrist. The switchblade’s tip exited and flung the blood it drew onto the wall next to them, crimson splattering in a grotesque pattern. Ryo leapt back with a horrible snarl, vision narrowing into pinpoints as he spat at the man.

Clemente looked almost like a cartoon, hilariously surprised and reflexively going to grab at the injury to stem the blood flow. He stared at the injury as though he’d never seen one before. 

“Touch me again and it’ll be your hand coming off!” Ryo hissed, shoulders shaking in genuine, full body anger that seared away the fear lingering in his throat and granting him the clarity to fight.

“Amazing!” The man laughed loudly, startling Ryo out of the rapidly-growing bloodlust that was licking at the back of his teeth, internally burning the man’s touch off of his skin. Ryo felt hot in his gut, like stubborn coals were being stoked by an even more stubborn fire-tender. “How fantastic! I’ve never seen such a vibrant ocular backlight! Oh, what a fine specimen.”

Ryo spat at the man’s feet, spinning about on his heels and taking off down the road, ignoring the man’s shouts. Pierluigi’s shop wasn’t too far and, with any luck, the man wouldn’t mind letting him hide for just a minute or two to catch his breath and calm the shaking that still hadn’t left his hands.

____

Because there was no god, Pierluigi had nearly had a cow when Ryo slipped through the door. Ryo had been chased out of the building, ceramic pots being thrown at him and obscenities screeched at his back. The hideous, scarred man had been red-faced with fury while he stood in the doorframe and screamed at Ryo to never come back, panting from exertion.

Ryo didn’t have to be told twice.

The walk back home wasn’t long, but Ryo managed to stretch it out by dragging his feet. His pathetic display had finally ceased in the face of Pierluigi’s attempt at daylight murder. Ryo’s face ached from where the man’s horrid, damp fingers had held him in sick affection. His own hands weren’t quite able to wipe away the sticky feeling of a stranger’s bruising touch and all he wanted was for Hibiki’s gentle hands to hold him tight enough that he could forget a stranger had even managed to grab him. 

Perhaps she’d be able to rid him of the anxiety that gnawed at the base of his spine, spindly fingers of fear sprouting from his coccyx and wrapping around his ribs to squeeze with faux gentleness, specially designed to disguise its true nature.

Hibiki had been lying in bed for several days, pushing him away when he tried to coax her out and pulling him back in if he wandered too close. She had been against him leaving that morning, but staying in the storehouse next to her grief made Ryo feel claustrophobic. Depression had sunk its suffocating touch into her skin, blinding her to reality and dragging at her limbs whenever she tried to move them, even for something as simple as sitting up.

She seemed terrified, and paralyzed in the face of it.

Ryo was worried.

Hibiki had been increasingly low energy since the message had arrived, content to lie and stare at dust mites drifting by for hours on end. Ryo had happily remained by her side for the first while, glad to be able to offer comfort, but her consuming grief was contagious and the room quickly became stifling without a real reason to leave. 

He couldn’t believe he spent three years hardly leaving the room. Exposure to the outside world had been like allowing a blind man to see. Ryo couldn’t get enough of Catania, drawn into the hypnotically disturbing sight of man and nature alike. Good and bad people made up the world’s population, and Ryo couldn’t help his perpetual curiosity and desire to understand them. Them, the blind rats all shoved together in a too-small cage and content to ignore their own helplessness until it drove them mad.

As he walked home, Ryo took notice of a lone gelato shop. It was empty due to the evening’s chill, but it always seemed to make him feel happy when the dog bought him some. Ignoring that particular pang of sadness, Ryo made a quick decision and turned towards the shop.

After the horrible day he had had, Ryo definitely deserved it. Maybe it would even cheer Hibiki up.

Ryo stepped into the shop with the change in his pocked and left with two cups of raspberry gelato. Setting off towards home once again, Ryo considered the treats in his hands.

Ryo had never seen Hibiki eat anything like gelato. The possibility existed that she hated sweets, but Ryo figured that the chances of Hibiki hating gelato were equivalent to the chance of a lion happily being domesticated into a house pet. Besides, Ryo wasn’t entirely sure it was even possible to actually hate gelato.

It was probably too cold for the treat to be anything but a ridiculous notion, but his mother’s bout of grief-stricken depression needed something to make the days a little brighter. Maybe (hopefully) she’d laugh at him and tug his ear to scold him for wasting his pocket money on something so useless.

When Ryo approached the gate to the courtyard, the first thing he noticed was that it was hanging off of its hinges. 

More than usual, that is. 

His shoulders tensed, wariness causing him to pause for a moment. 

Hibiki certainly wouldn’t have done anything like that; she had been listlessly lying in bed when he had left. If Ryo couldn’t coax her out of bed, he doubted anything else short of a divine act could.

Ryo slipped through the gap as quietly as he could. His home looked undisturbed, door shut and nothing else looking out of place. Ryo relaxed his tight grip on the gelato and chalked the gate up to time—and maybe a stray dog—finally taking its toll. It had barely been clinging on to the hinges as it was, and the day had been windy.

When Ryo swung open the door, he was greeted by the sight of Hibiki pressed up against the wall with a gun held to her head.

Ryo wanted to react, but he found himself unable to do anything but stare in a horrible parody of a few hours ago, frozen with overwhelming fury as he gazed at the scene before him. 

How dare these people? They had invaded his home, threatened his mother, and were acting like they were _above_ Hibiki. 

Ryo wouldn’t stand for it. 

The women threatening his mother turned her gaze, startled, to where Ryo was standing Two other men were in the room, one casually leaned up against the wall next to the door and the other lounging on his mother’s stool. The one by the door fought his shock off quickly, lashing out with the gun loosely held in his hands and slamming it into the side of Ryo’s head before Ryo could even blink.

The hit missed his temple, but it was hard enough to make his vision black out for a split second while he stumbled with a surprised cry. The two cups of gelato fell as Ryo’s hands flew up to grab at where he had been struck, involuntarily pressing against where the skin had been split at his hairline and feeling the instantaneous well of blood. 

Hibiki thrashed against the wall with a furious snarl, but the woman pressed her knee more firmly into Hibiki’s shoulder to keep her on her knees and twisted her arm further behind her. The man by the door grabbed Ryo by the collar before he could fall to the ground to roll away and roughly pulled Ryo to press against his front, gun resting at eye level and poking painfully against the aching side of his head.

The man sitting on the stool hadn’t moved, watching the almost-silent struggle with an oddly plastic grin. 

Ryo snarled at the man, gnashing his teeth and flinging himself forward against the man’s hold to try and make space so he could drop underneath his arms. The man tightened his hold, quickly moving an arm so that Ryo’s neck was securely wrapped up in the crook of his elbow.

“Let her go!” Ryo finally managed to snarl, eyes wide and caught off balance, nails desperately clawing in the man’s arm and scrabbling to draw blood. The man restraining him squeezed his arm firmly, cutting Ryo’s breath off with a squeak as the boy reflexively gagged and grabbed onto the mans arm, legs thrashing when the man lifted him up and off the ground as he somewhat gently knocked Ryo in the temple with the gun (as though he needed to be reminded of its existence).

“My, my,” the man draped across _Hibiki’s_ stool drawled, leaning back a little and smiling at Ryo like that cat who caught the canary, “Just the little brat I was looking for!”

“What do you want?” Hibiki hissed out a pained breath, groaning when the woman holding her slammed her head against the wall.

“Don’t speak, you traitorous bitch,” the woman spat coldly, face twisted up in distaste. 

Ryo wasn’t sure if she was disgusted with Hibiki or her own actions, but for the woman’s sake Ryo hoped it was her actions. She would have to apologize _somewhat_ realistically once Ryo got over there, but Ryo would be satisfied with her life if she wasn’t able to.

“It’s alright, Madeline,” the man laughed airily, imperiously waving a hand in front of him as though he were dispersing a bad smell. “To answer your question, Yun Fengmian, I guess we’re here to test a theory.”

The man stood up, ignoring Hibiki’s angry snarl with the practiced ease of a zookeeper, and walked over to where Ryo was being held in place, crouching down and gently smiling at him. The expression screamed insincerity—his grin didn’t so much as touch his cold, fish-like eyes.

Ryo wanted to pluck them out of his head and feed them to him. He’d probably look more alive if he was screaming. 

“Stay away from him,” Hibiki snarled, low and terrifying, shaking her head away from where it was being shoved into the wall with a violent light in her eyes.

Ryo spat in the man’s face, baring his teeth at him and silently wishing the man would get close enough to bite. Hibiki laughed in appreciation, the harsh, vindictive noise unlike anything Ryo had heard from her. She was usually reserved in her bloodlust and, like Fengyong, she kept her monster hidden beneath knife-sharp, polite smiles and gentle language that was only threatening if one could read the signs.

The door-man made a horrible, bone-deep noise of fury, throwing Ryo onto the ground and rearing back to kick him in the ribs with a steel-toed shoe. Hibiki made an identical noise that promised bloodshed, but a dull noise sounded and her snarl turned into an involuntary groan. 

The boss(?) remained crouching, smiling blankly as he watched. Ryo gasped in pain, arms spasming, when the man stomped on his face and held him down, grinding his face into the ground. The rough stone floor tore into his cheek, stinging worse than his pride.

The humiliation of the position burned at Ryo’s throat, demanding him to seek retribution. He tried to get his arms under him to shove himself away, but the boss pulled out yet another damn gun and slammed it down on Ryo’s right hand. 

Collapsing again, Ryo bit back his shriek when he felt the delicate bones snap. Agony radiated from his hand, but Ryo clenched his jaw, yanked his hands to his chest, and tried to writhe out from under the man’s finely made, Italian leather shoe.

Ryo would make him chew it.

It didn’t take more than a low-effort stomp to have Ryo’s ears ringing and cheekbones aching from the bone-breaking pressure being put on them. The bone under his left eyebrow ached fiercely, dully throbbing with each frantic heart breath and agonized breath. Panting heavily through the pain, Ryo forced himself to lie still, snarling lowly at the crouching man, peeling his bloodied lips back to bare his teeth. 

He looked delighted, arms wrapped around his knees and rocking back and forth.

“How fascinating,” the man hummed, “It looks like the tip was correct, for once. What a fun little cloudy brat!”

The words seemed to send Hibiki into a panic, her thrashing movements gaining new vitality. She threw her head back, crashing into the other woman’s face and crushing her nose with an ugly snap. Taking the opening, Hibiki twisted sharply and freed her arm with a loud pop before turning to grab the woman by the hair and pulling hard enough the rip the entire clump out.

The women _wailed_, falling backwards with her arms wrapped around Hibiki to pull her down as well. Ryo’s mother turned to face the other woman fully, closed-fisted hits landing on the woman’s face with dull snaps and loud snarls. The crouching man started laughing loudly before pointing his gun at Ryo and shooting.

The bullet slammed into the pavement near Ryo’s face, gouging deep into the stone and sending shrapnel flying. Ryo wasn’t able to bring his arms up to protect his face, so he was forced to lie there and let the fragments hit him. Hibiki froze at the shot, head whipping around to look at Ryo with wide, terrified eyes.

Ryo’s heart was in his throat. She had been in a horrible state for several days, head up in the clouds and body anchored to the Earth. Even so, she was still someone who he had viewed as a nearly mythical, all-powerful being.

He’d never seen her look so viscerally, painfully human then in that moment, terrified to look and see if her son had just been killed.

Unable to find any words, Ryo managed to whine loudly at her, grinding his teeth and ignoring the lump in his throat. Relief seemed to consume her, shoulders slumping in shuddering relaxation and face smoothing over. The woman surged upwards, throwing Hibiki off of her and slamming Ryo’s mother back up to the wall with a furious yell. 

“You bitch!” She gasped, face dripping blood and right eye swollen shut, leaking clear fluid and blood. The woman none-too-gently shoved her gun back up to Hibiki’s forehead, grinning viciously. Hibiki snarled back, all rage and protective fury, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed with violent, violet consideration as she continuously switched her gaze from the threat to Ryo.

“Well, that’s that,” the boss sighed lightly, glancing down to check his watch, “I hate to loose such a valuable resource, but unfortunately, there’s a few parties that are quite intent on removing you from this picture. Go ahead.”

Hibiki had a split second to widen her eyes, whip her head over to look at Ryo, and begin to call out for him before Madeline pulled the trigger.

____

Human beings are interesting creatures.

They’re so full of life and vitality, personalities shining through every action and word. Their pasts are reflected in their present and their present dictates their future. Birth results in life and life results in death. The cycle of the world is concrete. Nothing can change that ultimate fate which all living organisms slowly march towards with each tick of the clock. Death is an unavoidable truth, the call which must always be answered, regardless of willingness or lack thereof.

And yet, humans spend their entire lives desperately seeking out another way. Another chance, another path, another second.

It’s like they don’t understand what inevitable means. 

Despite having died once, Ryo wasn’t sure he had understood either. 

Staring at the dead body that used to be his mother, Ryo thought he was getting a pretty good idea.

Despite the agony that had, just a few moments ago, had his body instinctively curling up like a dead insect, Ryo was limp. It felt like he should be screaming, kicking, snarling—that was his nature, after all. Wasn’t it?

It wasn’t a novel experience. Feeling empty, that is. Ryo had spent much of his life hollowed out.

He laid in silence as he watched the woman—Madeline—stand up and wipe the blood off her face with a handkerchief. She spat on his mother’s body and kicked it a few times for good measure before muttering something to herself and limping over to join the men that stood on either side of Ryo. Ryo should be angry about that. 

It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d seen someone’s brains painted across a wall. Ryo stared at the macabre modern art as the blood on the floor reached him, not able to muster up enough emotion to feel much of anything. Numbly, he thought thought to himself: _that’s my mother_. With a shaking hand, Ryo tried to pull either some of his mother towards himself, or himself towards Hibiki. Either worked, but neither were achieved.

The boss had stood up and was chattering away into an ancient looking phone—the long antenna was waving back-and-forth, a metronome keeping pace with Ryo’s heartbeat—as he began to walk out the door Ryo had left open, absentmindedly gesturing for the other two to follow. 

The back of Ryo’s ankle was grabbed by the man and used as a handhold to pull Ryo out of the room. The friction of the stone had Ryo’s scarf unraveling from his neck and being left behind, bloodstained and filthy. 

Ryo wanted to be left behind too.

Ryo stared at his mother while he was dragged through the melting remains of the gelato he had brought home. The sweet taste of Ryo’s favorite dessert mixed with the blood there and turned to coppery ash against Ryo’s lips. 

His face burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "the end"
> 
> ...
> 
> ...
> 
> ...
> 
> i'm kidding (obviously)
> 
> the past few weeks have been horrible...i had the weirdest allergic reaction to some random plant and it hurt something fierce to do anything with my hands for a solid two weeks. plus, this is finals week for me :')
> 
> well, after this hopefully i'll be able to write more consistently.
> 
> i wasn't really able to edit this because i'm still hurting and i lack the time, but i wanted to get it out anyways
> 
> again, thank you all so much for your sweet, sweet comments. i love hearing your thoughts and theories! makes me want to shed a tear every time.
> 
> I shall leave you with thought that i had this week:
> 
> do aphids have aphid societies? they certainly seem to co-exist and work together to destroy my plants. all i want is a good harvest, but i'm scared my spinach will taste like garlic if i have to keep spraying it with concentrate like i have been.
> 
> ...maybe it'll be a new hybrid garlic-spinach and i'll make billions in the restaurant industry
> 
> well, something like that
> 
> thanks for reading and i hope you all have wonderful weeks!


	7. secession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to secede is to withdraw from fellowship communion or association, to separate ones self by a solemn act, to draw off, to retire, and especially to withdraw from a political or religious body

Chains rattled as the delivery truck bumped along down the road. They were loud enough that Ryo felt it in his teeth, vibrating against his jaw and slamming up against the back of his head with every harsh jolt of the truck. He wasn’t the only one strung up—four other people of various ages and emotional states were similarly restrained around him. 

They weren’t very close to him, the nearest was a young woman slumped against the wall across from him. Her eyes were exhausted, staring at the ground in front of her with a numb, dead-eyed look that Ryo thought was probably reflected in his gaze. He had been put in the corner closest to the cab…presumably so that the walls would keep his limp body propped up to minimize the chance of concussion.

He wondered what they would do if he just beat his head against the wall of the car until his brain hemorrhaged. They had gone through plenty of trouble to get him, surely it would irritate _someone_. The armed man seated in a folding chair by the door would probably have something to say about it. Ryo didn’t have the energy to move, anyways. It didn’t even matter.

It had only been a few hours since Hib—

No.

Not long had passed since he was unwillingly drug out of his home. Poached, like some kind of dumb, exotic animal that was incapable of self defense—no, like a bug who couldn’t even do the one thing he was supposed to be able to accomplish.

Something like him, who couldn’t even learn to pickpocket and chose to learn to fight instead.

Well, supposed to have learned. It was a strong word to use in the face of his complete and utter failure.

Wasn’t he supposed to be strong? Weren’t pathetic creatures like the people who had invaded his home meant to be kept in line by people like him?

Fengyong was supposed to have set him firmly on that path, but Ryo could see that he wasn’t anywhere close to being powerful, to being on the same level as his uncle or mother. How could he claim that title when he was unable to succeed in the only way that mattered?

He couldn’t judge his uncle too harshly for failing to make him strong. The inability to protect fell squarely on Ryo’s shoulders. He had gotten a big head, relied too strongly on his switchblade, and ended up collared, restrained, and alone in the back of a semi-truck.

The gelato was still caked onto Ryo’s aching face. Headache-inducing, artificial raspberry flavor mixed unpleasantly with copper, the scent hanging around him like a reminder. If he breathed in heavily enough, deep enough, maybe he’d get one last hint of achingly familiar straw, flowers, and unconditional love.

All he could smell was failure, judgement, and a deep well of guilt that threatened to drown him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

A rough, flat voice interrupted Ryo’s self-flagellation. He blinked slowly at the woman who had spoken—it was the one slumped across from him. She looked roughed up, left eye swollen closed and a fat lip lending a slight lisp to her words.

“No need for a death glare,” she managed to turn a laugh into something that sounded more like someone was ripping her apart from the inside. “Just figured you wanted a distraction, kid. Got a name?”

Ordinarily, Ryo would put up a bit of a fight. He’d snit and snarl and growl and, by the end of it all, the person trying to speak to him would just give it up as a lost cause and leave. He liked it that way—he didn’t need anyone else. Just him and Hi—

“Ryo,” he quickly said so that he could stop thinking, “You?”

“Celia.”

The woman tried to smile at him, but the motion looked painfully awkward, as though she had forgotten how to give one and was doing her best to imitate someone else. Ryo was pretty sure he wouldn’t fare any better if he tried. Even while trying to flood his mind with apathy, it felt like something was splitting him in two and tearing him apart at the seams.

“No talking,” the guard droned for appearances sake, more focused on the Rubik cube in his hands than on his job.

“Fuck off,” Celia huffed. The man didn’t look up, just scoffed and ignored her. “So what brings you here, kid?”

Three insects who thought they could upend the natural order of the world, his own inability to protect, his dead mo—

“Thought I could use a vacation,” Ryo said instead, leaning his head to rest against the wall and ignoring how the vibrations of the truck’s movement made his skull continuously slam into it.

The woman barked out a harsh laugh, oily, blonde hair swaying with her movements. “Guess you could say that. Have you ever visited before?”

“No, this trip was kind of a surprise,” Ryo half-heartedly bared his teeth at the guard when he grumbled at him again.

Celia scoffed, pulling her extended legs underneath her so that she could sit up as best she could while chained to the wall of a truck. “I hate to say it, but I’m afraid their hospitality could use some work. It’s the strangest thing, too—every time I try to go home, I end up right back where I started.”

Ryo glanced over her, taking in the deep-set, angry red scars on her wrists and ankles along with the fresh rope-burn around her neck underneath the ‘collar’ looped there.

“Where are we going?” he couldn’t help but blurt out, embarrassed by the lone note of vulnerability that was horribly obvious.

It was a difficult emotion to recognize, fear. In this life, Ryo hadn’t truly been faced with it outside of the past few weeks. Ordinarily, he met terrifying situations with a level of excitement that even Ryo found odd, violence singing in his heart and bloodlust roaring through his veins with all the ferocity of a tiger going for the kill. 

Being alone was a new experience. Since being reborn, he hadn’t had to deal with it. He’d been kept close to home and hearth, only allowed out once he was thoroughly and hopelessly loyal. Even when he’d been sent away, the homesickness he had felt could be managed through the knowledge that he had that person waiting for him.

Now…

Well, now he was by himself. A situation all of his own creation.

Celia smiled, bleak and thin-lipped. “Who knows this time,” she whispered, voice like shattered glass being crushed into the concrete. “Maybe it’ll be an office building, or someone’s home. It could be a warehouse, or a coffee house’s back room—” a particularly harsh bump on the road had her head knocking harshly (unflinchingly) on the wall “—or even a tent in the woods.”

She was kind of useless, Ryo realized. Some people managed to be broken so thoroughly that, although they appeared perfectly functional, nothing could get through to them. Amused all on their lonesome, a life’s purpose that could be summed up by only making trouble for others and laughing at their expense.

That sort of existence…it didn’t sound too bad.

He’d already been cut loose from any attachments. It wouldn’t be too difficult to morph into that kind of person: self-serving and bitter, taking out all anger on the world. He could already feel himself spiraling down and wasn’t quite sure what sort of life was waiting for him at the bottom.

Frankly, if he wasn’t restrained, he would probably have followed his uncle and mother.

“So you don’t know,” Ryo summed up, twitching his numb lips into something that probably resembled a sneer. He couldn’t exactly feel his face well enough through the throbbing pain to tell.

“Nope. Maybe we’re all just going to hell,” Celia laughed. Even in his grey-toned state, Ryo could hear the hopeless hysteria in it. With a hop, skip, and a little twirl, he could maybe make that sort of objectively horrible noise too.

“Cool.” Ryo shut his eyes and leaned a little heavier into the wall, settling in for a drive that could take who-knows-how-long. If he deluded himself enough, the restraints felt sort of like a hug and the truck’s vibrating could be imagined to be a heartbeat, thudding an ever-present, painfully familiar song into Ryo’s chest.

_____

At some point, Ryo must have fallen asleep, because he was woken by the truck’s back door sliding up with an uproarious crash. Blearily, he looked up, slightly confused by his surroundings. Where was—

A rough, masculine hand grabbed Ryo by the collar around his neck and yanked him to his feet. Reflexively, he snarled at the stranger and tried to latch down on the hand holding him. A meaty paw slammed into his jaw, aggravating the injuries already there and hard enough to send Ryo’s teeth rattling his teeth in his skull.

After the man unlocked Ryo from the loop that had kept him against the truck wall, he was passed off to an exhausted, bored looking woman who yanked him out of the truck. Ryo landed heavily on the cobblestone, legs giving out underneath him. The woman held his weight up despite her thin arms and, without waiting for him to recover, began to drag him towards a door that had been left ajar.

Behind him, Ryo heard Celia spitting insults at the men and women surrounding them as she, too, was removed from the car. Too tired to care, Ryo went limp and let himself be bodily dragged into the building. What was the point in fighting it?

Inside was brightly lit by florescent lighting—a sharp contrast from the darkness in both the truck and outdoors. Ryo hardly managed to glance around before his eyes reflexively shut, tearing up from the difference in light. All he was able to see was a fairly large, open room with a long table in the middle populated with bored, blurry figures.

The woman shoved Ryo against the wall—ignoring his pained wheeze—to fiddle with something above his head before leaving him. Panting against the wall, Ryo struggled to sit up straight without the use of his arms. Around him, there was only hushed breathing and the sound of chains rattling.

It took a few minutes for Ryo to manage to blink his eyes open to squint around the room. Lining the walls were roughly twenty people of various ages and ethnicities, all with arms restrained behind their backs and held to the walls with chains that connected to the metal bands around their necks. About two-thirds of the people had a stripe of color on their collars, including the young girl directly next to Ryo.

The table in the middle of the room had a scattering of armed men and women. Some were playing cards and drinking while others paced around the room, lifting their guns up in a prideful threat and glaring at anyone who dared to twitch.

The girl next to Ryo was painfully young—a tiny thing with blonde hair and watery lavender eyes, collar hanging loosely on her thin neck. Two stripes of color were there: a wide band of purple with a small sliver of orange on the border. She smiled pitifully at him when she saw him watching her, twitching her fingers in greeting from where they were tied behind her back.

Ryo huffed slightly in reply, but turned back to the room, eyesight slightly blurry. The emotional shock had mostly worn off and left Ryo aching all over. His head felt like a balloon of the verge of popping, stuffed full of cotton and left to obscenely stretch to its limits. The asshole who had stomped all over him certainly hadn’t held back.

More worryingly was his right hand, which definitely had at least a few broken bones and wasn’t benefitting at all from the ropes tightly wound around his wrists and elbows. It throbbed in time with his heart, fresh pain blooming with every shallow breath.

Trying to ignore the pain, Ryo watched one of the women who was crouching in front of Celia. She had been going to all of the people who had been brought in alongside Ryo and pressing what looked to be a piece of paper to their tongues, then gesturing at a man equipped with a set of paints to go and paint a color or two on the metal bands around their necks.

Celia was sneering and spitting at the woman, turning her head and pressing her cheek against the wall to keep the woman from grabbing her jaw. She laughed in the woman’s face when she managed to hold Celia still, sticking her tongue out to lave spit all over the fingers holding her mouth open.

When the woman finally managed to get whatever she was looking for, she smacked Celia hard enough to bounce her head again the wall and spat in her face. Celia just tilted her head back and laughed as the woman stomped Ryo’s way, fuming.

She kneeled in front of him with a hideous scowl, clearly in an awful mood. Ryo managed to curl his lip at her, sneering as best he could through the pain and apathy. She smiled right back—mean and petty. With a tight grip, she grabbed his jaw and wrenched it open, thumb pressing hard into his aching cheekbone. Ryo shuddered a bit at the parallels from the day before and choked back the whine that threatened to break loose.

Had it really only been a day?

It felt as though Ryo had aged a decade since being taken—the kind of age that came exclusively with a bone-deep exhaustion brought on by grief built upon grief. Ryo could understand it now, the feeling of wanting to lie down and stare at the ceiling for days and days and days until he withered away into a husk. That sort of useless, drawn out death was exactly what suited something like him.

Ryo watched through tired, lidded eyes as the woman pulled away a paper colored entirely purple. The edges of the page were a bit darker, but the women didn’t seem to care much. She squinted a bit before shrugging helplessly.

“Purple,” she called over her shoulder at the man who was finishing up painting a yellow and green stripe for Celia.

“Another cloud?” The man sounded a bit surprised, brows raised when he stood with a groan and headed over for the woman.

“Guess so, if you can believe it,” she scoffed, “Two little brats, too. They’re already reserved, we’re just holding ‘em.”

“Christ, this is my first seeing any,” the man laughed, glancing at the young girl who was sniffling next to Ryo. He leaned down to streak purple across the band locked around Ryo’s neck. It wasn’t even an attractive color, just a hideously garish shade that reminded Ryo far too much of Skull. “Thought they were meant to be rare.”

Ryo leaned back into the wall with a shaky inhale, shutting his eyes for a moment and trying to forget that he ever learned how to be happy.

“The little ones are the only kind anyone can get. The adults are usually too difficult to target and, besides, it makes it easier to raise ‘em loyal,” the woman chuckled, crossing her arms and cocking a hip. She was looking at Ryo like he was an exhibit at a zoo. “The adults tend to kill anyone who gets close, but it’s pretty interesting that we’re lucky enough to have two kiddos at once.”

“Well damn,” the man was still crouched in front of Ryo with an owlish look on his face, “Looking at them now, you’d never think they’d grow up to be such monsters.”

A monster, huh?

Ryo shut out the man and woman who were discussing him—and what odd terminology, clouds and such; he wasn’t quite sure why they kept discussing the weather—and rolled his head up to stare at the ceiling, dead set on ignoring them. He wasn’t quite sure why he was being trafficked and not killed. The woman had said something about being easier to contain, which Ryo could agree with.

She had also said something about reservation, which set off a whole other set of alarms and a new wave of trepidation. The only group he could think of that was aware of him was the Triads, which didn’t quite make sense either.

Fengyong and Hi—

They had both seemed to believe that the Triads would just kill him if they learned about him, which appeared to be the case. The Triads likely ordered a hit on their true target and figured Ryo could just rack up some extra cash for whoever they hired. The three people who attacked him had just passed Ryo off to the people with the truck and disappeared, so it would make sense.

“What’s your name?” a soft, young voice whispered in accented English. Ryo glanced to the source to find the girl stuck next to him. At some point, the man and woman had wandered off, job evidently completed, and left Ryo alone. “Mine’s Aina.”

Ryo stared at the child, only understanding her due to his unique status of having lived before. He wondered if he should entertain her, but he internally sobbed at the thought of having to speak to another person. Desperately, Ryo wished to be alone and unrestrained so that he could curl up and properly figure out what he was meant to do.

She didn’t seem deterred by his lack of response, only smiling widely at him and continuing to whisper to him. “You’re purple. Like me!” she confessed, glancing happily at Ryo’s collar—they were chained like common _dogs_—and trying to point to her streak of color with her chin.

Her wide, hopeful eyes softened something in Ryo that had been growing harder by the second. Kids that young should be safely tucked away in their nurseries, cuddled close by their guardians and gently protected from the evils of the world—not in strange buildings in the middle of nowhere, held down and treated like a wild animal.

“Mmm,” Ryo managed to hum, hands shaking. She grinned at his response, noticeably perking up.

“‘M bored here! There’s nothin’ to do or play!” Without preamble, Aina launched into a story about the mean people who had led her away from her parents with the promise of a fun game. They had apparently been on vacation. She hesitated a bit when speaking about her family, lip trembling and homesickness painfully obvious.

Ryo stared at his feet, biting the inside of his cheek and humming along when she paused for validation. While she was speaking, Aina shifted as close to Ryo as the restraints would allow, leaning forward against the chain and seeming to ignore how it tightened around her neck, just for the satisfaction of being closer to another living thing.

“Hey! Quiet over there,” one of the men pacing about ordered when Aina’s voice got a touch too loud, voice drawling in his evident boredom. Watching a group of beaten down, chained up people couldn’t be very entertaining, but seeing as he was still doing his job, Ryo couldn’t feel too sorry for him. Ryo understood needing to eat, but there were boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. Human trafficking seemed like a pretty big one.

Aina quieted at the reprimand, shrinking into herself and bringing her knees back up to her chest to rest her head there. “Sorry,” she whispered to Ryo, sending him a secretive smile when he glanced over. “Didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

Ryo didn’t think he could muster up a smile, even for a terrified child. Nothing else seemed adequate, so he looked away again and pressed into the wall just for the sake of feeling something. He was too tired and ill-equipped to deal with himself, let alone a kid.

He couldn’t even remember the last time—if he had ever—he had interacted with a child. He was young, but not really, and the people he knew weren’t exactly hallmarks of guardianship. CPS would probably have taken him away if it was twenty years later and America, but time was apparently fluid and Ryo had been born in Catania. No one really cared there, unless you were family.

And now he had no one.

Aina’s parents were probably desperately looking for her, Ryo realized with a sort of numb interest. They probably wouldn’t ever find her. Little girls went missing in foreign countries all the time. Some turned up dead, most were never found, and a very small minority were recovered and returned to their families, permanently altered.

He couldn’t help but pity her and her family a bit. Maybe her parents were the type to never give up—the kind of people who would cry over her picture every night and dream about the woman she was supposed to grow into. All the vacations never had, the childish sleepovers and joyful birthdays; the memories forever lost to a future that wasn’t ever going to come into existence.

Maybe they’d hold a funeral for her without ever accepting her death, a ceremony only for the benefit of the living and the non-relations. Her family would grieve and grieve and, one day, they’d let go. They only knew her for a few brutally short years, after all. That was practically no time at all in the grand scheme of the universe. 

“She had her whole life in front of her,” people would say, remorseful but without remorse, “A parent shouldn’t ever have to bury their child.”

The concept of a ‘lifetime’ was so amazingly dependent on the person. A lifetime could be ninety years, or thirty-two, a month, or even a day. And yet, people acted as though they had the decades stretched out before them, pleasantly taking for granted all the time that had been gifted to them by some extraordinary, unknown third party and stubborning ignoring the fact that it could all disappear in an instant, possibly to start again. 

And maybe, just maybe, reincarnation wasn’t a thing and Ryo was a total anomaly. Something not meant to be, a disturbance in the force, an abomination of nature that distorted the natural order of things. It was totally possible that people lived, died, and that was that. 

Somehow, Ryo managed to hop into another body, another time, another life. Maybe the deaths happening around Ryo were the universe’s attempts to reinstate order: divine punishment for the crime of daring to live happily.

Ryo shut his eyes and hummed along to Aina’s whispered stories, jaw clenching at her childish lisp and innocent words. In what world was something like this just? Eventually, her words tapered off and were replaced by steady, shallow breathing. He chanced another glance over at the child before trying to follow her into sleep, constant florescent light burning through his eyelids.

_____

The next—Day? Hour? He couldn’t tell. There weren’t any windows and the lights hadn’t so much as flickered—time Ryo woke up, it was to Celia screaming once again. Aina was crying silently next to him, shaking so hard the metal links around her clanged noisily. A man was trying to haul Celia to her feet, face flushed read in wordless fury and helpless embarrassment. A few of the workers stood on the sidelines, arms crossed and snickering audibly at the man’s struggles.

“Get _up_, Anna,” the man hissed. Celia flopped backwards, hanging suspended by the tight grip he had on her biceps.

“My name is Celia!” she shrieked back in his face, kicking up with her legs and twisting every which way. She looked like a fish on a line, flopping about in futility, unaware of the hook in its mouth.

The other people restrained against the wall either stared at the scene with angry, pursed lips or stubborned looked away, desperately trying to ignore the situation. Ryo watched, apathy hazing his mind nearly as soon as he had woken up and unable to feel anything outside of a hint of irritation at having been woken up.

He might have been scared of the same happening to him, but if he had such feelings, they were unrecognizably through the pain wracking his body and muddled thoughts. Dully, Ryo watched the man punch Celia into silence—maybe she was unconscious—and haul her up so he could get a better grip, dragging her out the door.

Silence was enforced once more, outside of the shuffling of cards and the occasional sniffle from Ryo’s side.

_____

Time passed in a haze. Occasionally, a guard would go person-to person with a water bottle and yank their heads back to dump the water in the general vicinity of their mouths for them to either gulp down or drown. Ryo wasn’t prepared the first time and ended up inhaling the first sip, choking and coughing up the rest to a symphony of laughter.

They fed him a granola bar twice, sticking it unwrapped in his mouth and letting him figure out how to get it all down without any hands. The first one got dropped and no amount of struggling or twisting managed to rescue it. It remained under his legs even after the second time he was fed.

Aina seemed to pity him and had tried to help him recover the lost granola bar, but her legs were far too short to reach. She had pouted afterwards, evidently devastated by her inability to grow via mental command. Ryo had enough energy to nod his head at her, and that seemed to cheer her up from her failure. 

By the time Ryo was approached again, he was shivering in a puddle of water and crumbs, broken hand worryingly numb and entire body feeling like a bruise. A man crouched in front of Ryo and pulled his head up from where it hung against his chest. The man looked to be in his thirties, aged significantly by the lines of stitches that stretched across his face and turned a human being into something reminiscent of a jigsaw puzzle. He met Ryo’s gaze with an even look, stoic and cold-eyed.

“This is them?” the man asked a plump, suited man without looking at him.

“A-aah, yessir!” the other man yelped, rubbing his hands together and sweating profusely. “The girl and boy child clouds, just as ordered.”

“This one is in worse shape than we were led to expect.” The man holding Ryo’s face frowned a bit, tilting Ryo’s chin to the side to look closer at his throbbing cheekbone.

“Well, you know how their type can be!” the plump man chuckled nervously, reaching up with a handkerchief to dap at his forehead. “In addition, those independent contractors can be so unreliable sometimes. _We_ certainly did not damage your order in any way, shape, or form!”

But they didn’t really help it either, huh?

The man sighed heavily, looking expectantly disappointed, as though an already ill-behaved dog had peed inside the house on the new carpet. He got to his feet and went to crouch in front of Aina, performing the same inspection of her face and head.

“W-Would you like their names and contact information? If you aren’t pleased, we surely will do our best to remedy the situation!”

“No, it’s fine,” the man stood up once more, evidently satisfied with his findings, “Keep your mutts. Have these two brought to the car and placed in the back. Without the collars, but leave the arms.”

Ryo wondered when he had gotten used to being spoken about like he wasn’t even there.

“Of course, sir!”

Aina started crying again, desperately sobbing for her mother as a woman approached and fiddled at the back of Aina’s neck. The band fell off with a deceptively gentle click before slapping into the wall with a noise like a warped gong. Ryo tried to watch as Aina was carried off even as a man walked up to Ryo with all the enthusiasm of a criminal walking up to the gallows. 

“Fucking clouds, man,” he muttered under his breath, looking at Ryo as though he was a coiled rattlesnake. Ryo watched him with half-lidded eyes, trying to figure out how to respond. These people were oddly obsessed with the weather.

His thoughts were slower than normal, though, and by the time Ryo decided to sneer at the man, he was already being carried under the man’s arm and out the door. The guard who had dumped water all over Ryo caught his eye and waved a cheeky goodbye before the door slammed in Ryo’s face, cutting out the sight of that white, windowless room.

The release from the chains lent more relief than he expected. Ryo hadn’t even realized how tensed his shoulders had become until the pressure around his neck was gone and he could relax a bit. The man carrying him fiddled with the door to a low, black sedan, opening it enough for the him to roughly shove Ryo into the backseat before slamming it closed again. 

Aina was in the car with him, crying into Ryo’s ear where he was shoved up against her, struggling to get up. They were alone in the backseat—well, it was more like a box. The windows were covered, the front was blocked by a partition, and there weren’t even any seats. Before Ryo could manage to sit up on his own, the car jolted forward and sent him and Aina flying backwards.

He yelped when he landed on his arms, agony lancing up his arms despite the numbness that had taken up residency in Ryo’s body. Aina started wailing louder, slipping into a language that sounded like French and completely outside of Ryo’s skill sets. Ryo couldn’t help the whine that slipped out when he managed to shove himself upright by propping his face against the back wall for leverage, but the noise seemed to startle Aina out of her sobbing.

“Hey, you,” she sniffled, staring up at Ryo with wide eyes that looked owlish from the tears swimming in them.

“What?” Ryo gasped out, trying to calm the throbbing that had started up in his hand.

“You’re scared?”

Ryo couldn’t believe this dumb kid’s audacity. Who was the one sobbing and crying for her mommy? Of course he wasn’t scared! Especially when it was cowardly _prey animals_ who had decided to try to step out of their places. Someone strong would realize the injustice and remedy it; Ryo would just have to wait.

“No,” he responded flatly, focusing more on controlling his breathing than putting emotion into his voice. He didn’t have the mental energy to try and explain his thoughts to some dumb little kid who got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

(Although, wasn’t he that dumb kid too?)

Aina grinned up at him through her tears, face snotty and eyes swollen from crying. “Yeah,” she laughed, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you!”

Could this kid actually understand English? He was pretty sure he had said no, but her interpretation was totally off.

“…Sure,” Ryo whispered instead. The thought of arguing made his head spin. Ryo leaned his head back against the wall with a dull bang, breathing in through his nose and exhaling from his mouth. He opened his eyes when something pressed up against his leg and was met by the sight of Aina wriggling towards him, head placed on his thigh and looking at him with bright, expectant eyes.

Lavender, he realized, staring dully into them. Wasn’t that his favorite color?

Ryo wanted to recoil away, to curl up by himself in a corner and not let anyone touch him ever again. Everyone fell painfully short of the people he wanted them to be. A hand on his hair, no matter how rough, only reminded him of his uncle’s patiently clumsy hands learning to be gentle. Every person who touched Ryo’s neck failed to do so with the same loving delicacy of the woman he wanted them to be.

Ryo stared at the girl and didn’t see a ghost—just a lonely, terrified child who wanted physical comfort. Maybe…maybe a little bit would be alright, for her. He wouldn’t smile or pet her head or hold her close or anything like that which fell under the umbrella of intimacy. But...she was scared, wasn’t she?

Besides, he didn’t have the energy to shove her away.

With a slightly exasperated sigh, Ryo shut his eyes again and leaned harder into the wall. Being moved to a car had exhausted him down to the core in such a way that screamed unnatural, but Ryo’s head was so stuffed full of cotton that he hardly had room for critical thinking like that.

He dozed like that, off-and-on for a few hours, painfully aware of the searing heat pressing down on his thigh and unwilling to allow himself to be so defenseless in unknown circumstances. When the car pulled to a stop, Ryo cracked his eyes open and tried to blink away the horrible weights that had settled on his eyelids. 

A man dressed in gray scrubs opened the back door, smiling kindly in that special way that set off alarms that shrieked _danger, danger_ uselessly in the empty halls of Ryo’s mind. Ryo tensed quick enough that his thighs ached, but he couldn’t do much more than sit and dumbly stare as the man climbed in, two syringes hanging between his fingers.

“Hey, kids,” he greeted with a happy little smile, “It’s so good to finally meet you!”

Ryo tried to jostle Aina awake by moving his legs, but her head just slid off his thigh to rest on the floor instead. A toddler’s sleeping ability was no joke.

“This is just a little something to keep you calm for processing, okay?”

The words were offered as a comfort, but all Ryo could muster up was dull wariness. Aina woke up to a needle in her upper arm, blinking sleepily at the needle and not seeming to realize what was happening. Ryo couldn’t do much more than twitch away and partially curl his lip at the man, who responded with a gentle smile full of teeth and administered the syringe.

“Come on, then,” the man pulled a confused Aina close to him and into his arms, ignoring the subdued growl from Ryo. She blinked sleepily at Ryo from over the man’s shoulder before yawning and lying her head down in a perfect display of childish innocence. 

After the man had climbed out with Aina, the black-haired man from before reached in and pulled Ryo out by the collar. Ryo didn’t quite receive the gentle treatment, slung over the man’s shoulder as he was and left to dangle. Did that count as sexist?

Ryo tried to kick his legs, but they didn’t respond. Total numbness found its home in Ryo’s muscles and bones, nestling down between his capillary beds and spreading its icy nothingness with all of the smugness of a housecat giving a luxurious stretch.

Ryo couldn’t really look around, but he thought he caught a few glimpses of mountains on the horizon and tall, untamed grass stretching as far as he could see before it was replaced by white tiles, white walls, florescent lights, and air so sterile Ryo could taste the copper it was trying to disguise.

To pass the time of mindless walking, Ryo stared at the grout between the tiles and tried to count them, head bobbing uselessly with every step. For some reason, he couldn’t get past four without loosing count again.

One tile,

Two tiles,

Three tiles,

Four tiles.

He wanted to laugh; it sounded like the intro to a dumb children’s rhyme. 

_One tile, two tiles, three tiles, four! How many children are behind those doors?_

Ryo couldn’t remember how many series of tiles he counted before a door opened and he was flopped down, belly-first, on what felt like a hard mattress. The man who had carried Ryo untied his hands—something Ryo could interpret from hearing more than feeling. His arms had gone numb long before they sedated him.

“Christ,” the man sighed in irritation, “They really fucked him up.”

“What’s that?” a vaguely familiar voice asked. Soft steps shuffled forward until Ryo could hear another person breathing over him. “My, my! Those brutes should know better than to damage important goods.”

A shiver ran up Ryo’s spine.

“Is it fixable?”

“Well,” the voice hummed, “If we had one of those types, probably. I'll do the best I can, but it likely will probably always be a bit warped and unreliable.”

“Are you sure you want to use this one, Doctor? Clouds are rare, but for the sake of the experiment, it’s probably best to have one that isn’t flawed.”

“No, this is the one we need,” Ryo could hear the smile in the voice, “Besides, Andrew, we’re all human; everyone is flawed.”

“Well, you’re in charge, sir.”

“Thank you, Andrew. Would you mind recording their forms for us?”

“Sir.”

Ryo’s head lolled when he was rolled over, arms carefully brought up to rest by his sides. A gaunt, skeleton-like face smiled down at Ryo, electric blue eyes shining behind a pair of glasses Ryo had never seen the man wear. He was wearing a lab coat—white, just like the white floor and white walls and white lights that threatened to blind Ryo.

“Hello, Ryo! It’s so good to see you!” Clemente greeted him, poison dripping from his kind smile and ravenous monster visible through his teeth, staring Ryo down with all the intensity of a parasite intent of consuming and consuming until nothing was left. Ryo stared up at the man, unable to muster up any level of shock.

“Well, I don’t really expect you to greet me back,” Clemente chuckled, “I’m just going to need you to answer some basic questions for me, alright? The quicker we get your intake forms and such all sorted out, the quicker you get to rest.”

His life must be some sort of joke, right?

“First name?”

Ryo kept his mouth pressed shut, changing his gaze to the ceiling and allowing his vision to blur into a mess of light and white, white, white.

“Oh, don’t be difficult! Let’s not make this worse than it has to be. First name?” Clemente smiled at Ryo, like they were sharing a private joke between friends.

Ryo stared at the ceiling.

“Oh, Ryo,” Clemente sighed, “I didn’t want your first day to be like this. It’s just a hassle for something so simple.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder towards where Ryo could see a blur of yellow and grey. “Go ahead and shock her.”

Ryo’s gaze snapped to Clemente’s face as a beep sounded and Aina screamed, startled and pained. Clemente smiled gently, sweetly down at Ryo. “Trust me,” the man sighed wistfully, “This hurts me more than it hurts you. First name?”

Aina was crying now, loud and ugly sobs that can only come from a child that has found themselves hurt in a place that offers no comfort. No doting parent or uncle to come to the rescue with cooing words, magical bandages, and sweet kisses that wished all the pain away.

Ryo felt off balance. Wasn’t this sort of thing out of his league? This was the sort of situation that adults end up in. The bad kind of adults who do awful things to deserve to be hurt. Wasn’t that justice? Ryo wasn’t prepared to deal with this sort of thing. He wanted to run to his home—to his storehouse—and jump under the covers, pulling them up and over his head, only to be met with gentle, amused laughter (but also with the promise of being protected and loved).

Who was supposed to protect him now?

On top of that, if Ryo wasn’t prepared for this, Aina certainly wasn’t. She was a child. The real deal—a genuine article that had been given a bad hand and told she wouldn’t receive a next time. Where was the justice in that?

Wait, wasn’t Ryo an adult? Had he forgotten? 

So, he was the adult in the situation. His crime was existence and the failure to protect. That made sense. But, by that logic, wasn’t there still an unjust occurrence found in Aina’s presence in the situation?

But wait, weren’t these people also acting unjust in usurping the natural order of things?

Maybe Ryo was a bug, but didn’t that make these people worth less than dirt? They didn’t have the right to punish anyone when they’re the ones committing crimes as the ruled class.

Someone strong was supposed to remedy the situation, to seek out injustices in the world and right them. That’s what he had been taught. So, where was the predator in this scenario? The monster responsible for herding these wayward sheep, where were they?

Ryo couldn’t really do anything but wait and do what he could to protect the innocent in the situation. He failed to protect before, so maybe that was the path he was meant to follow here. It was just a name.

“Ryo,” he whispered, voice catching on the lump in his throat.

“Very good,” Clemente praised, expression lighting up. “Last name?”

“I don’t know.”

Scribbling sounds from the other end of the room.

“Date of birth?”

“Spring of eighty-eight.”

“Location of birth?”

“Catania, Sicily.”

“Any relations?”

“Deceased.”

“Any family related health concerns?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you been vaccinated?”

“Probably not.”

“Do you have any allergies?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, that’s alright for basics,” Clemente pulled a flexible tape measure out of his pocket. “You won’t be able to stand for awhile, so we’ll just take care of these things with you on the table.”

Ryo stared at the ceiling while Clemente fluttered about, listening to Aina’s slowly quieting sobs and her own answers to the same questions asked by the man in grey scrubs. The lights were so bright that Ryo thought he could shut his eyes and pretend he was outside in Bologna, practicing his punches while a calm voice offered gentle critique and the harsh reminder to _keep those hands up_.

“You’re a bit underweight and short for your age, but that’s fine for now. Your blood pressure is low, so we’ll work on addressing that as well. Ah, Andrew, why don’t you come and ID him while I set up.”

Clemente disappeared and Ryo enjoyed a ceiling that was free of people he hated for a blessed half minute before the black-haired man appeared over him, face warped by his stitches and a slight frown. There was a low buzzing noise that Ryo could barely hear, but he could certainly see the tattoo gun lowering to somewhere underneath his left eye. Ryo wasn’t sure how long the man worked, but it felt like simultaneously two seconds and two years had passed before he leaned back.

The man disappeared for a moment before appearing again with a thick syringe. Ryo thought that he might have felt the prick at the junction of his neck and shoulder, but wasn’t sure. The man lifted him up and carried him to a short bench were Aina was already propped up, shoulders shaking, body limp, and lip trembling.

Ryo wanted to reach out and poke her lip until it went back to normal, but his arms didn’t even feel like they were there. He was placed next to Aina and finally allowed to observe the room as Clemente pulled a cart through the only door. It had no windows, and was furnished by two hospital beds—linens already stained with blood and grime—and a short counter along one wall.

The black haired man and the gray-scrubbed nurse stood nearby, but their focus was on Clemente.

Ryo couldn’t see the contents of the cart, but the hint of excitement in the man’s eyes was enough to make him wary.

“Well, Mister Forty-four and Miss Forty-three, congratulations!” Clemente cheered, clapping for the two of them. “You have been given the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to change the world.”

“What are you talking about?” Ryo finally managed to snarl, lips and vocal cords responding on time for once.

“In this world is something called ‘Flames’. The people who are able to utilize these Flames are known as Flame Users,” Clemente’s eyes gleamed, slipping into English, presumably for Aina’s benefit. “Little to nothing is known about these amazing people who are able to unlock their Flames and defy the very laws of the universe as we know it! It’s an R&D dream come true! From what we, the Estraneo Family, have been able to deduce, there are seven types of Flames and every living person has a dominant Flame type. Among these Flames is the ultra-rare Sky Flame! It’s only been recorded a handful of times outside of the large mafia Families, so there’s some speculation that these Flames are genetically inherited.

“Now, these Sky Flame Users are able to produce a truly mysterious phenomenon that has been coined Harmonization by some. These Harmonized sets are the envy of every Flame User, who spend their lives desperately seeking out a Sky to Harmonize with. Of course, only the cream of the crop are selected to accompany these high-class mafia Skies. Only six people are chosen for each set, the strongest of each Flame type.

“Harmonization is quite the topic of interest, but no one knows too much about it. It’s origins, how it occurs, and what these bonds are like…we simply just don’t know! The sample size is far too small to gather reliable information and, besides, those mafia princes and princesses wouldn’t dare to associate with scum like us.” Clemente laughed at that, turning to pick something up from the cart.

“This,” Clemente gestured, “Is going to be the long-persecuted Estraneo Family’s claim to fame.”

It was a silver bullet, long and skinny and utterly plain.

“The Harmonization Bullet,” Clemente smiled, wide and sick, “Will be what sends the Estraneo Family shooting to the top of the food chain. Those Vongola dogs will have no choice but to allow us up if we hold the key to creating bonds. Imagine! A world where Flame Users can bond with each other, regardless of number of users, their Flame type, and without the presence of a Sky!”

The man had a mad light in his eyes, barely visible through the glare on his glasses lenses as he fiddled with the cart once more, bullet disappearing from sight. Ryo could hardly breathe through the thick buzz of electricity suspended in the air. The two other men were smiling slightly at Clemente, eyes hopeful and mouths hard.

“It would shift the balance of power in such a complete, total way. Those people would no longer have the power to viciously beat down the underdogs and the malcontent lower class of the mafia would rise up, finally no longer dependent on that upper echelon for their Sky lines. You two are the keys, I think,” Clement gestured towards the two of them with the bullet, smiling at how their feet couldn’t even reach the ground. “The twenty-second pair of subjects entering into this experiment. Through trial and error, we’ve been able to both improve the bullet along with the criteria for selection.”

Clemente finally picked up the items from the cart and handed them to the two other men. Ryo stared at the matte black guns as they were brought to rest at his and Aina’s foreheads, lump rising in his throat and knees beginning to shake despite himself. She started to cry again, still unable to do anything but sit, unmoving. Ryo chanced a glance into the black-haired man’s cold eyes and wondered why he couldn’t seem to do anything to escape.

Was he really so useless? The thought only made the weight sitting on Ryo’s chest heavier.

“First,” Clemente held up a finger, only visible from between the men, “The subjects must be between the ages of two and six.” Ryo heard rather than saw the black-haired man click off the safety. “Second, the subjects must be powerful Clouds, at least one with a minor affability for a Sky Flame.” Ryo watched Clemente mouth move and tried to imagine what had twisted the man up into such a horrible creature and how the man managed to trick others into believing he was still human. “And third, both parties must die simultaneously. As such, the stars have aligned and gifted me with both of you. Through careful plans and lots of luck, you have been brought here to usher on a new era for the mafia world. Congratulations!”

“It is an honor to die for the Estraneo Family.”

Ryo had never really wondered what it felt like to die. He’d died once, yes, but possessed no memory of that time between life and life. He had been alive as someone, and then he had become aware that he was someone and somewhere else. There had been nothing as agonizing as this.

The apathy that had dulled everything away into a haze of mindless gray burned up in just an instant. The flames followed the apathy down, down, down into Ryo’s core, lighting everything up on the way down. His heart wasn’t beating, but something was being pumped through his veins. It burned like poison, eating away at his vascular walls and seeping into the space between his organs to consume everything there, too. 

Everything that was him was being torn up and away and replaced just as quickly, only to be followed by being burned up once more and replenished again. It felt like an endless cycle of death and resurrection, warping him more and more each time, leashing him down while simultaneously setting him free.

He felt like he was being flayed alive, separated into hundreds of little pieces that were being discarded one-by-one only so that they could be replaced by something greater, more efficient, more grounded, more _Ryo_.

Ryo’s eyes opened to purple and it felt like rebirth.

Something wrapped around his wrist, dragging it all away and it felt like death.

Someone was screaming. Ryo couldn’t tell if it was him or Aina as they were torn down with no regard and built back up brick-by-brick into something more totally cohesive than two separate buildings.

It was over before he knew it. It felt like an eternity had passed.

Fingers pressed up against Ryo’s neck. “He’s got a pulse, Doctor.”

“So does the other!”

Ryo’s head was floated up, up, up, bloated fuller then it’d ever been before. It felt like there was more of him than before, like suddenly he was bigger and…_more_. A balloon on the verge of popping, a water bottle on the edge of falling off the table. All it would take was one breath, one touch.

“Great work, men! Phase one is complete.” Clemente’s voice sounded like he was across the room and whispering right into Ryo’s ear.

“Aw, why are you crying, Andrew?”

“S-Shut up, dumbass! I’m just…I’m just happy. Hopeful.”

Ryo cracked his eyes open, stared at the fluorescents, and wondered if this is what it truly felt like to be dead. He was almost painfully aware of the world around him, thrust fully back into feeling and denied the apathy he wanted to drown in. There was too much going on and he felt too new, too fresh. Sounds were ear-shatteringly loud and his clothing felt like sandpaper against his skin.

“I know, Andrew. It’s hard to believe, right? But we’re so close. Thank you, Doctor Clemente.”

“Oh, you flatterers! I’m just doing what needs to be done. We’ll make the Estraneo Family number one and you all won’t have to be scared to leave the lab. If the mafia won’t accept us, we’ll just _force_ them too.”

“Let’s just hope these two are able to live long enough to give us enough data to perfect it.”

“Don’t worry about that, Andrew,” Clemente chuckled and it sounded like nails screeching down a chalkboard, “I’m certain that they’ll be the last ones. The prototype will finally be complete after this round and we can present it to the world. The Vongola will be forced to acknowledge us that way…Any-who, let’s get the subjects settled.”

Clemente appeared above Ryo once again and smiled when he saw Ryo’s half-lidded, blurry gaze. “Don’t worry, Mister Forty-four,” he murmured as he lifted Ryo to settle him on one of the hospital beds. “Your sacrifice will ensure our survival. Have a good rest.”

Something crept up along Ryo’s spine, slow and gently cruel. A lull rocked through Ryo, hard enough that his vision went black immediately. He couldn’t move at all, consumed fully with the desire to just shut his eyes and sleep. Ryo wanted to scream at the command, to throw his head back and thrash, to bite and rend and tear until nothing was left of Clemente save for a bloody pulp of meat and bone.

Bloodlust sang through Ryo’s veins and violence tore at his gums, but the sedative effect of whatever Clemente slipped in him overpowered both, gently washing over Ryo with the promise of one day stopping his heart. With gritted teeth and fury painted on his tongue, Ryo fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so the exchange has been completed and nobody is completely 'bad'. in a grey world, it's tough for those who see in black-and-white.
> 
> next chapter we'll be skipping around a bit!
> 
> i'm glad i got this out when i intended to! looking for a job is absolutely brutal, so i've found myself more days than not just curled up in bed when i get some free time. luckily my mind finally realized writing is stress relief as well! i think i'm going to continue to try and update on wednesdays, so we'll see how that goes.
> 
> i'm feeling both inspired and dejected...i met a man the other day who let me go take a look at his garden. everything he was growing was huge and absolutely luscious! his cucumber plant leaves were seriously the size of my head and producing like crazy. meanwhile, the squash seedling i transplanted a solid month and a half ago has hardly grown two additional leaves ;_;
> 
> he showed me the products he used and everything, but now i have to PAY for them...ew
> 
> well, my gardening dilemmas aside, i hope you enjoyed this chapter! again, your comments mean the world to me and i appreciate them so much. if i don't respond it isn't because i hate you!! i just have genuinely no clue what to say outside of plentiful outpourings of love and affection. in order to not clog your inboxes, here: i love you all!!!!! thank you so much!!!!
> 
> thanks for reading and have a great week!


	8. heterodymus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heterodymus: conjoined twins with two heads and torsos but one pair of legs
> 
> **tw/cw:** this is the chapter in which the human experimentation/loss of identity tags start to come into play. please be cautious if these are topics disturbing for you!

What people didn’t say about being abducted was that it was almost painfully boring. No one had entered the room for what Ryo could only assume was a few days, save for a nurse coming by presumably to drop off two meals. There weren’t any windows in the room, blocking out any of Ryo’s attempts to ground himself. He felt as though he had been stuck into a vacuum, left to drift aimlessly and endlessly, cleanly separated from society with his only tether being the tiny girl lying in the other bed.

Aina was still sleeping, her breathing hardly audible over the thrum of the air conditioning. The plates of food left for both of them were waiting by the door, long cold and growing stale with every passing minute. Ryo could hardly bear to look away from Aina for even a moment, terrified to his core that she would die if he looked away.

He wasn’t sure what had been done to them, but his world had radically shifted in response to it. Priorities and fears that had been deeply rooted and long-established were thoughtlessly shoved aside without hesitation to make room for something else. It hummed in his chest, wonderfully warm and gentle, providing a sharp contrast to the harsh lines of the room. With every breath Aina took, Ryo felt like his chest expanded all the more for it, as if to compensate for the two of them breathing in sync.

That beautiful, fiery warmth circulated constantly through his body, spurred on the longer Ryo laid and stared at the girl across the room from him. 

She was too far away. 

If he wasn’t so horribly sore, Ryo would have climbed into her bed as soon as he’d woken up.

There weren’t any restraints, just a simple metal band wrapped so tightly around his left wrist that it felt almost like it was a part of his skin. For all Ryo knew, it was. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out and Clemente had already proven himself to be quite willing to do things without consent—Ryo wouldn’t put it past the man to implant something while he had been asleep.

A soft noise snapped Ryo out of his wandering thoughts and back to reality. Aina was shifting slightly, brow creased and a soft noise leaving her throat. Was she having a nightmare? The thought didn’t sit well with Ryo, somehow.

Was he supposed to care this much? He’d practically just met her.

A sudden, distressed cry had Ryo shoving himself to his feet so quickly he didn’t register the movement. Steadying himself on the bed with his good hand, Ryo grit his teeth through the agony radiating throughout his body and staggered the few meters that separated him from the Aina, catching himself on her bed when his legs gave out. He took a moment to regulate his breathing so that he would stop wheezing, pushing the pain down and focusing on the important matter at hand.

Gingerly, Ryo pulled himself up onto Aina’a bed and carefully picked his way on his hands-and-knees until he reached her head, resting a gentle hand on her cheek and stroking the area under her eye with his thumb. The slight frown on her face was smoothed away with the motion and she leaned into the touch with a sleepy noise.

Kneeling there, comforting her as best he knew how, Ryo struggled to choke back the lump sitting heavily in his throat. It was…painful, to provide this sort of comfort. Something similar to grief was wriggling up his esophagus to press alongside his tongue, frantically struggling to escape and make itself known.

He didn’t have the right to ask for comfort. His losses resulted solely from his own failure to act and succeed. Ryo couldn’t expect to be tended to and loved after such a devastating display of his own inability to protect the people he cared about.

Clenching his jaw, Ryo slowly shifted himself around until he was positioned well enough to lower himself down on shaky arms. Aina whined in her sleep, turning and curling into him. Something was throbbing in his chest, a foreign feeling similar to adoration starting to writhe its way through him and muddle his thoughts. 

It was different from anything he’d felt before—artificial, somehow. Ryo could tell, had _felt_ the genuine article before. And yet, even a fake bond was more than he’d had before. He clung to it with the desperation of a drowning man, digging his fingers in tight and making sure it stayed rooted in him.

Aina’s breathing relaxed, returning to its formerly gentle and predictable pace. 

Ryo refused to fall asleep, _couldn’t_ sleep in enemy territory, regardless of the exhaustion dragging at his limbs and pain shivering in his muscles.

Ryo kept a finger on Aina’s pulse point, comforted by her heartbeat while he watched the door. One entry point meant one exit point and Ryo refused to be taken by surprise again. He’d already made too many errors in judgement—a pattern of death that wouldn’t be repeated going forward.

Time swept by in a blur. Ryo had no way to determine how long had passed, outside of counting his breaths. Each breath took roughly one second to both inhale and exhale. He hadn’t kept track of them at the start, but he’d always been easily bored. Too long spent trapped in his own head led to endlessly chasing rat tails and mentally spinning about until his thought processes got so convoluted Ryo felt dizzy.

Twenty-two thousand, seven-hundred and ninety-two breaths later, the door handle jiggled. Ryo jolted, muscles tensing rapidly and utterly disregarding the lingering soreness that wailed for him to stop. A nurse pushed the door open, dragging a wheelchair after him.

“Oh! Good afternoon, Forty-four!”

The man looked surprised to see Ryo awake, but his confusion seemed to clear away after glancing at the long-cold plates from earlier. There was probably a reason for that, but Ryo didn’t care enough to think about it. He growled at the man when he approached (_he could move he could talk he could think_), curling his shoulders up defensively and trying to wriggle a foot underneath himself so that he would be able to launch himself forward if need be.

“Would it be alright if I helped you into the chair?” the nurse asked kindly. Ryo didn’t trust anyone who sounded kind—especially people like this who looked like they smiled all day long, unaware of how the falsely pleasant expression never reached their eyes.

“No, you may not,” he sneered, reaching down with his good hand to wrap around Aina’s thin, bird-like wrist. Wasn’t she too skinny? Maybe he should have brought her the food while he had been up.

The nurse’s expression grew pinched, obviously not used to being denied, sending Ryo’s shoulders climbing even higher. Not even the sweetest grin could disguise the scent of rotting flesh, and this man _stunk_ of it.

“Well, I’m sorry in advance, then. This place doesn’t offer second chances,” the man sighed softly, hesitantly—as though this was painful for _him_, difficult for _him_. Losing his fingers would probably be an improvement to his personality. Teach him humility and all that.

Ryo snarled when the man approached, throwing himself forward at the man and going for the throat. His uncle probably would have approved of Ryo’s intentions. He likely would have gotten a scolding for using his teeth, though.

Not one of the points of contact, Ryo’s _ass_. Teeth were perfectly acceptable weapons. Anyone who claimed otherwise probably had sensitive teeth and couldn’t even properly bite into ice cream.

Nearly as soon as Ryo left the bed, his body went limp, about as active as a dead fish. Overwhelming numbness peeled up from Ryo’s left wrist, shuddering up through his arm and arcing into his body. With twitching muscles and a curse stuck in his unresponsive throat, Ryo collapsed to the ground and tried to force his lungs to take in air.

The nurse hauled him up by the arms even as Ryo gagged on nothing, trying to make his tongue feel like it still belonged in his mouth. Gently—mockingly—Ryo was set down onto the wheelchair. With a cold smile and a rough pat to Ryo’s cheek, the nurse wheeled Ryo out the door.

Fingers curling and legs still shuddering through their sudden venture into paralysis, Ryo tried to call back to Aina. She was still asleep, somehow, but the thought of leaving her alone in this horrible place was aggravating that new, oversensitive part of him. It felt like someone was squeezing a broken arm, digging harsh fingers into a setting bone and acting surprised when it came out of the cast crooked and inherently wrong.

Ryo couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised when the nurse pushed him into a room only a few doors down and the person he hated the most in the world came into view. Clemente was standing at the counter, shuffling through papers with a carefree smile, as though he was just a typical pediatrician.

It looked like an operating room. Equipment that Ryo had never seen in either of his lives surrounded the bed and lined the walls. Some were already on, cheerfully flashing lights and chirping like a ride at a children’s carnival, offering up a low, painfully gentle hum to serve as background noise.

The nurse parked Ryo a few feet in the door before leaving him stranded, unable to do anything but stare at Clemente and watch the man ignore him. It took a few minutes for the doctor to address him, but it was plenty long enough to feed his irritation, breathing intentionally slowly to soothe away the building rage and lingering numbness.

When the man finally turned to face Ryo, it was with an amused smile, lips peeled away from his teeth. Ryo bared his own canines back, clenching his fists and curling his toes to try and relieve his built-up aggravation.

“Did you sleep alright?” the doctor asked kindly, cruelly.

“What did you do to us?” Ryo rasped back instead, voice hoarse from disuse.

Clemente clapped his hands together in delight—Ryo wanted to gag on instinct. “How wonderful of you to ask,” he chuckled as he approached Ryo. Something slimy and repulsive was sliding its way down the back of Ryo’s neck. A cold, lethargic trail followed it, as sticky as any snail’s secretions. “Don’t worry about it too much. You’ve got more to worry about; those brutes certainly did a number on you!”

Ryo barely managed to move his gaze towards where Clemente was gesturing. His eyelids were growing heavier, jaw aching and creaking under its own weight and fighting to go slack. The hand Clemente was examining had gone numb back with the people who’d taken him and Ryo had just tried to avoid looking at it.

It was hideous—fragile bones very clearly broken and loosely scattered underneath his skin, stained purple with ugly bruises. His fingers had stiffened in a gnarled position, twisting over one another in a poor imitation of a weeping willow tree. Another wave of lethargy hit Ryo. He should probably be offended at the casual way Clemente was handling him, but he was too distracted by the way his body felt like it was floating up, up, up until it bumped into that horribly white ceiling.

Blinded by powerful surgical lights and vaguely concerned about the straps binding him down, Ryo fell asleep.

He blinked into awareness a moment later, back in the wheelchair and feeling horribly scattered. A numb sort of dullness had settled over him, a low-level thrum that circulated through his veins and shivered through his mind with a quiet whisper of _calm, calm, remain calm_.

“Are you feeling better?”

No amount of dulled senses could block out that particular voice, rubbing over Ryo’s raw nerves with all the delicacy of a cheese grater.

“Wha?” Ryo slurred out, glancing around the room. It looked like it had been painted with watercolors; everything was smeared together in a hideous attempt at modern art. He needed to blink to focus his eyes, but even that simple task proved to be incredibly difficult.

“Look at me, Forty-four,” a hand rested on Ryo’s jaw, joints poking out at grotesque angles. His face was pulled to face the side, Clemente’s unnerving blue eyes swimming into view with disturbing clarity. “There we are! I was concerned I had overwhelmed you.”

As unresponsive as his body was, Ryo still managed to pull his upper lip back to snarl at the man. Clemente smiled at the sight, an ugly expression if Ryo had ever seen one.

“You’re mostly aware of your surroundings, so we’ll go ahead and start the next phase,” Clemente leaned back into his chair and picked up a clipboard from the table next to him, evidently satisfied with how Ryo’s eyes were fixed on him, “I’ll get straight to the point. The girl you were brought in with is in another room with a fellow researcher. We’ll be checking both of your reactions.”

Ryo tried to shove himself up and off the chair, senses sharpening drastically, but his body only jerked once before stilling once again, a chill settling over him in a thick layer, smothering the rest of the world. The grin Clemente sent Ryo’s way made him want to gag—pleased and disgustingly content.

“Don’t bother. Even if you managed to stand up, you wouldn’t get much further than the doorframe,” Clemente hummed, shifting the clipboard to rest on his knees and leaning over to press a button on what looked like a tape recorder. “January seventeenth, nineteen-ninety-two. Subject Forty-four, type C, in conjunction with subject Forty-three, type CS. Now, I’m going to read a few scenarios for you. Please do your best to envision them, then describe for me how you would react. Do you understand the instructions? I would like a verbal response.”

Clemente pointedly tapped his own left wrist with a cheery smile. Ryo glanced down and stared at the metal band there. Honestly, he’d forgotten about it, but while looking at it, a tiny zap of electricity curled out and made his arm twitch. Lip curled, Ryo grudgingly met Clemente’s gaze and huffed out an affirmation.

“Excellent! Scenario one: you and the girl, subject Forty-three, are only given one plate of food to share for your meal. You’ve both behaved yourselves, so the meal is warm. You yourself haven’t eaten in three days and are starving, but Forty-three had an invasive procedure performed last week and is still recovering. There is no guarantee that you will be fed the next day. How do you resolve the situation?”

“Dumb question,” Ryo scoffed back. “I take a bite of the food to make sure it’s safe, then let Aina have it.”

Clemente’s face was carefully blank as he recorded something on the clipboard, pen scratching obnoxiously against the paper.

“Scenario two: the Family is running low on funds, so they can’t afford to keep every experiment going. To remedy this, the researchers decide to humanely euthanize half of the laboratory’s population…”

Ryo couldn’t tell how long he sat, biting out responses to scenario after scenario. It was long enough for his voice to grow scratchy, tongue feeling too-wide and as though it was made of cotton, awkwardly sitting in his mouth. Occasionally, it would feel like TV static was buzzing in his head, drowning out Clemente’s voice and making Ryo’s vision blur for a few moments until it cleared away with no sign of there even having been an issue in the first place.

His jaw has started to ache obnoxiously, a throbbing pain that feels set deep in the bone. Maybe one of Clemente’s hideous parasites has burrowed into his skin, cautiously creeping in the spaces between his bones and sinew until it finds somewhere to nest and eat away at him until Ryo was just an empty bag of skin, left to rot alone in the elements.

At some point, Clemente must have stopped the tape recorder and started moving him. Ryo’s memory was smeared, disappearing into a colorful patchwork of scenes, badly stitched together, that were loosely drooping apart at the seams. Static and white noise filled the gaps, humming noisily enough to vibrate his jaw and devouring any recollection he might have held of being loved.

White tiles and white walls passed him by, winding together until it was nearly impossible for him to make the distinction of where one ended and the other began. A low voice was talking to him. Probably. He couldn’t quite make out the words when he was too busy being distracted by the high-pitched whine bouncing around the inside of his skull.

Eventually, the wheelchair came to a stop inside of a room. Sitting alone on a bed was a girl, the only spot of color that he could see. Even she was dressed in white—that abhorrent color staining her with its sterility and kind cruelty. Didn’t he know her? She looked familiar. Her hair was yellow, but she felt purple to him. She felt like home and family and love—a whole slew of emotions he couldn’t put to words washed over him, relentlessly overwhelming him until it felt like he’d die from it.

There was something like water on his cheeks. The man behind him laughed. Maybe. He couldn’t quite focus. He was helped out of the chair and sat down next to the girl. She looked fearful, intermittently looking up at the man with quick, wide-eyed glances. His hand was wrapped up in hers—the good one, not the one that was wrapped up to the point where he couldn’t even feel it.

“Where’d you go?” she was asking him, small voice cutting through the fuzz that was spilling out of his ears and stuffed in his head. “I woke up ‘nd you were gone.” The girl was growing concerned. He wanted to reach forward and wipe that horrible expression away until the only thing she did was smile.

Something inside of him felt like it had been cracked wide open, pried apart so that its viscera could be scooped out, leaving him hollowed out and lost. He felt a little bit like he had lost something extremely important—a warm hand cupping his cheek; long, dark hair flowing like a stream down a broad back; loud arguments in public; the feeling of wind whipping him in the face as a deafening motor drowned away all of his thoughts.

“I’m not sure,” he answered, blinking slowly. The anxiousness that had been balled up in his chest drained away the longer he sat pressed up beside her. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay!” The girl grinned, cheeks straining to contain the force of her smile. He couldn’t look away. “Now that you’re back, wanna play?”

He wasn’t quite sure how to play, but he nodded anyways.

____

“My, you’ve grown quite a bit!” Doctor Clemente exclaimed. “I think you’ll be quite tall once you’ve finished growing.”

Forty-four wasn’t ever sure how to answer the man. He didn’t like Doctor Clemente at all, but the Doctor got mad at him whenever Forty-four said as much. It had only taken him one time to figure out that it was better to just stay quiet. Staring at his feet, Forty-four hummed in agreement—the Doctor also got mad if he didn’t answer—and swung his legs as they dangled off the side of the examination table.

The Doctor scared him. Forty-four just wanted him to go away forever and leave them alone. Aina—not Forty-three, she claimed—cried every time he walked in the room to take one of them away for a few hours or days. Sometimes they both went together. Those days were both the best and the worst. They were great, because he got to stay near her, but they were also bad, because the days they were together hurt the most.

Doctor Clemente called it a ‘feedback loop’. Whatever that meant. All Forty-four knew was that when Aina hurt, he hurt, and vice versa.

Forty-four’s favorite days were the ones where he just got measurements taken. It was easy to just sit and watch, entranced, as numbers appeared on screens and were recorded in what Doctor Clemente called ‘his file’. It had gotten pretty thick, but Forty-four vaguely remembered it once being too thin to ever see the papers inside.

“How does it feel to be seven?”

He didn’t know how to answer. “I’m not,” he answered with a frown. “I’m thirty-four.” 

Wasn’t he?

No.

Wasn’t he three?

“No, you’re Forty-four!” Doctor Clemente tossed his head back, laughing like that was the funniest thing that he’d heard in a decade. Forty-four watched, blank-faced—the Doctor laughing never meant good things.

Most days seemed to pass in muddy recollection, blurred together like watery colors that weren’t able to keep their form. Aina tethered him, though. She was the only rope lashing him to the dock while a storm raged on. Sometimes, when she was crying in the corner of the room, face held in her in her hands, Forty-four was scared it would snap. She’d drift off with the wind and he’d mindlessly attempt to follow.

She looked at him with such a sad expression sometimes. Maybe it was pity—and didn’t that thought just sting—but Forty-four preferred to think that she was just upset. She talked about her parents a lot. They were blurry figures in her memory by now, but it was the most that the two of them had. 

Those distant memories were some of the only things that reassured them that there was, indeed, a world outside of the lab. The green grass, the blue sky, and the unending sea—Forty-four wanted to see it all.

Aina claimed that he probably already had, that he’d come from outside just like her. She said he had a name. Forty-four wasn’t too sure he believed her, though. On either claim. All he knew for certain was her, the white ceiling, and the researchers. 

It wasn’t so bad inside the lab. That’s what the Doctor said. They got food and clothes. Aina was there, too. If they had to put up with a bit of experimentation for safety, that was maybe alright as well. Doctor Clemente told Forty-four all about how scary the world was.

Human traffickers, rapists, and bad people that would lure naive children away from their homes—the world was full of them. It was safer inside of the lab. Wasn’t it? Something inside Forty-four ached. The thought of spending his entire life trapped, contained, confined, constrained…something like that—a _life_ like that—Forty-four didn’t want that.

He wanted to be able to talk about the ocean with the same kind of amazement that filled Aina’s eyes whenever she whispered to him about it, excitement imbued in every syllable.

“Well, that wraps this up,” Doctor Clemente hummed, breaking Forty-four away from his thoughts. When he shut the folder with a _clack_, Forty-four jumped. “Are you ready to continue on?”

No. 

He didn’t want to hurt or be hurt.

“Yeah,” Forty-four muttered, shoulders slumped.

____

“The goal of this exercise is to defend,” the intercom crackled. “The limiters have been reduced. Use whatever means that are necessary.”

Forty-four crouched in front of Aina, the movement so eerily familiar that it sent goosebumps shivering down his arms. He’s six and tired, but they’ve played this game before. Both Aina and himself would be given a marker, typically a colored triangle of fabric. Another pair of people would be let into the room and each team fought to steal the other pair’s marker. 

Once the marker was taken, they weren’t allowed to move until their partner could retrieve their marker for them. To enforce the ‘no-move’ rule, the metal bands would crackle to life and spread…something…over them. It was an awful feeling—creeping and cloying and just like how Doctor Clemente made him feel.

‘Any means that are necessary.’

What a subjective clause.

Aina had her marker clenched in her hands—a deep purple shade that made Forty-four’s chest spasm like he was dying and filled his lungs with the scent of motor oil and wind. He knotted it around her bicep for her, fingers lingering for a moment just so that he could feel her warmth. His marker was already tied around his thigh, digging in enough for him to feel it.

“Ready?” she asked, rocking up on the balls of her feet and fluttering her hands about her thighs in nervous anticipation. Aina didn’t like fighting much. She had told him that it made her feel too much like the researchers in a hushed tone while they hid underneath her bed and pretended like the cameras couldn’t see them. He was inclined to agree with her, but something about fighting made his blood sing, violently alive in a way that escaped him most days.

“Yep,” Forty-four hummed, thumbing at the metal band around his wrist. “Ready enough.”

Both their door and the door across from them slid open with a quiet groan. Two people shuffled in place, white scrubs sagging loosely on their too-thin forms. One of them, a young teenager, had a single eye stitched closed. The other was a huge, red, twitching mass that vaguely resembled a fly’s eye. It took up nearly the entire left side of his face and head, skin drooping around it, as though the eye didn’t quite fit right.

For the most part, the second person—a young child who couldn’t have been older than twelve—looked fully human. Their legs, however, were huge and furred. The child was hunched over, as though to make up for their disturbed center of gravity. Deformed, wide hooves clapped awkwardly against the tile with every step, an anxious tempo that echoed around the room to keep pace with Forty-four’s heart.

It wasn’t terribly unusual. The Estraneo Family dealt in both monsters and men, but it was anyone’s guess as to which one came first. Forty-four wondered when he and Aina would be modified, adjusted to whatever suited the researcher’s fancy.

Once, there had been a lone adult sent in to fight whose skin looked almost like it was made of wood. Their joints were stiff and inflexible, but they had been extremely durable, lit up by sparks of green lightning. 

It had taken a long time to finish them off, but it was easy enough considering they couldn’t move. They had just stood there and waited, not even able to make enough of an expression for Forty-four to be able to tell if they could still feel pain. No matter what kinds of monsters were sent out, they all bled red. Aina had started crying, though, and had refused to speak to him for three days.

Forty-four couldn’t really understand why. If they didn’t win, they’d be the ones who lost. He certainly didn’t want that. He knew _she_ didn’t want that, because every time he was taken away she refused to let go of him once Doctor Clemente returned him.

They didn’t waste time rushing forward in order to avoid the electrical currents that would follow any refusal to leave the waiting room. The other pair did the same, ducking low and splitting up immediately. Aina stayed close to Forty-four, pressed up against his back, close enough that he could feel her frantic heartbeat.

The child was quicker than Forty-four expected, powerful legs carrying them forward faster than any typical kid would be able to move. They darted towards Forty-four, jumping and kicking out with both legs once they were close enough. He slid to the side, pulling Aina with him along by the back of her shirt to keep her from getting kicked as well, before breaking away from her.

He tackled the child with a snarl before they could twist and land, taking them to the floor with a horrible crack. They writhed underneath him, muddy yellow fire flickering to life at the back of their head to heal whatever damage he had done.

How irritating.

The yellow ones were always horrible to deal with. As soon as one wound was inflicted, it would disappear nearly before the next hit could land. Their team’s flag was red—bright, eye-searing red that lingered on the backs of his eyelids and made him think of tea that burned his tongue. Forty-four shoved his opponent’s head into the floor with one hand and clawed at the knot with the other, ignoring the disturbing noises they made. The kid thrashed wildly, managing to wedge a hoof into Forty-four’s side and shoving him hard enough to send him flying into the opposite wall.

The observation window Forty-four crashed into made a noise like a plastic gong, warping and warbling tenuously before ultimately holding strong and settling back into its still, opaque form. He rolled quickly to his feet, hands going up to block and shove away the strong legs kicking out at him nearly as soon as he’d recovered, purple fire dancing into existence on his arms. A quick glance Aina’s way showed her ducking and weaving between blows, careful to avoid the flickers of red flame that ate away at everything they touched.

She seemed to be doing alright despite the age gap, so Forty-four refocused on his own fight, hopping backwards to avoid a kick that looked like it would have shattered his jaw upon impact—something he’d prefer to avoid. He’d already had to deal with having his jaw wired shut once and wasn’t keen to repeat the experience.

Forty-four grabbed the child’s—ankle?—and yanked hard enough to unbalance them, sending them spilling to the ground. He kept a firm hold on the leg, raising his foot up, purple flames whispering along his skin, and stomping hard enough on their kneecap to sent it buckling backwards. The child shrieked, rolling over and trying to drag themselves away once Forty-four let go of their leg. He dropped onto their back, slamming their head into the floor a few times for good measure before hurrying to untie their marker.

As soon as he pulled away with the marker, the child’s body seized for a moment before falling painfully still, faint yellow flames dying. They were still screaming, but the noise was muffled and kept trapped in their throat.

Forty-four tied the stolen marker around his thigh, just under his, and trotted over to where Aina’s opponent had her pinned to the ground and was using red fire to burn her marker off. The teenager’s eye swiveled around wildly, bouncing around in its false socket with wet, slurping noises.

They tried to turn to face Forty-four when they saw him coming, but it was easy enough to speed himself up with fire and fury. A solid kick directly to the teenager’s eye sent them to the ground, hands flying up to cover his face with a horrible squeal and showing off his marker, displayed obviously on his wrist. Aina scrambled over to him on her hands and knees, yanking and pinching at the knot while Forty-four did his best to keep the teenager still.

Aina removed the flag and the two of them quickly backed away, watching as their opponent quieted—eye twitching involuntarily, bulging halfway out of its socket and leaking a clear fluid.

Forty-four helped Aina to her feet, giving her a once-over to check for any wounds. A few bruises, a couple burns…nothing outside of the ordinary. His ribs were starting to ache, despite the fact that he’d reinforced them. With a few deep breaths, Forty-four pushed the pain away and focused on the doors again, waiting for them to slide open once again. Again, and again, and again—until the researchers were satisfied, or they lost.

____

When he was five, Doctor Clemente tried to introduce a new person to him and Aina. It was at a point where he still couldn’t think clearly, head muddled and unable to do much more than snarl and bite at everything that wasn’t them. Frequently, he would be put under and would only come out more confused, Aina having to remind him of her name constantly. The only information that remained permanent was a deep-set, paralyzing terror inspired by Doctor Clemente and a distaste for the color white. 

He doesn’t remember much about the child, but they were a few years older and spitting mad, yanking against the restraints holding them down and screaming in the researcher’s faces. He had crouched next to Aina in the corner of the room, fingers wrapped tight enough around her arm to bruise and shaking with the desire to sprint out of the door. Every time a researcher got close to the two of them, he’d lunge forward with a snarl, only held back by his grip on the young girl next to him.

She soothed him with gentle murmurs and clumsy stokes of chubby fingers that were thick with childish innocence until he settled next to her once again, shoulders up by his ears and teeth bared.

“November fourth, nineteen-ninety-four. Phase two of Hotel Alfa Romeo Mike, concerning subjects Forty-three, type CS, Forty-four, type C, and Forty-five, type C.” Doctor Clemente’s voice made shivers curl up his spine, sinking into his nerve endings and screaming a song of _get away get away get away_.

The child on the table _howled_ in fury, purple flames sparking to life on his shoulders and dying away just as quickly. One of the researchers tightened the strap around the child’s neck, enough to make him choke. It didn’t seem to dissuade him and his desperation to escape only seemed to be invigorated by the appearance of a gun leveled at his forehead. 

Aina started shaking at the sight, pressing her face against his back and biting into the skin there without a word. The pain grounded him a bit, dragging his thoughts back into his head from where they’d tried to drift off to. Not that he blamed himself. He’d rather be anywhere by here.

“Are Forty-three and Forty-four secured?” Doctor Clemente asked, focused on his clipboard with a small frown burrowing between his brows. 

The researcher holding the gun laughed dryly, grinning with a sardonic twist. “Well, as much as they ever are.”

There was a man standing six feet away from the two of them—black haired, face twisted by stitches, and eerily familiar. It was about the closest the man could get to them before he’d lose his temper and jerk forward. There was another researcher focused on them, pen already frantically scribbling on the paper. The girl was crying behind him now, fingers bunched into his shirt.

He needed to protect her.

Did he? Who was she?

“Well then,” Doctor Clemente said, glancing up from his note-taking with a gleam of interest in his eyes. It made him want to vomit. “Initiate the second phase.”

The researcher pulled the trigger, cutting the child off mid-curse. It buried itself into his forehead and disappeared beneath the skin. Purple flames flared to life from there, burning their way into existence, as though they had the right to belong. 

An odd feeling started to tug in his chest—a cry for help, a demand for him to make some space. He snarled at the feeling, shoving back against the girl—Aina?—until she was pressed up against the wall behind him, rejecting every desperate tendril that reached out with obvious prejudice.

He wasn’t good at sharing.

He watched as the skin of the child’s head started to budge unnaturally, expanding against the straps until there wasn’t enough room left for whatever was inside and it popped, splattering its contents around the room with a firework-like bang, complete with the gentle noise of bone shards delicately slamming into the tile and walls. Doctor Clemente looked displeased, brow creasing further and lips pressed together until they were white.

The expression made him want to run away and hide under the bed so that those horrible blue eyes couldn’t follow him. The man’s lab coat was stained bright crimson, pieces of the child sliding down his chest and plopping to the ground.

“Phase two. Subject Forty-five evidently rejected. The Cloud Flame’s property of propagation appears to be the cause of death. Tentative conclusion: incompatible.”

____

When he’s seven, Aina is taken away. Forty-four still doesn’t have a fantastic grasp on time’s passing, but he sleeps nine times before she’s returned to him. He’s kept in the corner of their room while they bring her in and get her settled. As soon as they’re out the door, he’s by her side and grabbing her hand.

She jumps like she’s never been touched in her life, a broken noise spilling out of her. “Aina?” he whisperers, ever-mindful of the camera burning a hole into the back of his head. She doesn’t seem to react to his words, lying stiller then a mouse hiding from a hawk and staring blankly at the ceiling. 

Forty-four repeats her name, this time directly into her ear. It gets a flinch out of her, but a quiet voice tells Forty-four that the reaction probably resulted more from the feeling of hot air brushing against her. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he waves a hand in front of her eyes. 

No response.

He yells.

No response.

He brings his face an inch away from hers and stares directly into her eyes.

No response.

Finally, when he presses her hand into his face and lets her feel it, she lets out a wordless, muffled sob and clenches her fingers in his hair. It’s simple enough to follow her when she pulls him down next to her, crying louder than he’d ever heard her before. She opens her mouth wide enough for him to see the missing tongue. He wants to join her, but most days it feels like all of his tears have just dried up.

“It’s okay, Aina,” he whispers to himself, pressing her hand against her throat so that she could feel the vibration. “I can talk enough for both of us.”

____

Frankly, it makes life harder for both of them. Now, she cries all day, every day if he isn’t touching her and letting her feel his throat while he talks himself hoarse. It’s more speaking than he can ever remember doing, but seeing her smile at him makes it all worth it.

Some days, when Aina’s crying has rubbed his nerves raw and the ache in his chest grows to a level that he can’t ignore, Forty-four spends hours pacing the boundaries of the room with gritted teeth, desperately holding himself back from snapping while she wails. Frustration is a disturbing constant in a world that consists of blurred lines.

On the worst days, he screams and yells and snarls in her face, yanking at his hair and kicking the walls while she stares blankly ahead, tears rolling down her cheeks. He feels trapped—more so than usual. The tether that Aina provided is fraying, dangerously close to snapping and leaving him to drift alone. The thought of it terrifies him, and those days always end with his face buried into her shoulder while he whines apologies that fall upon deaf ears.

He doesn’t know how to care for her, how to protect and provide like he’s _supposed_ to be doing. It feels like an itch that just can’t be scratched, nagging at him and digging its insistent pleas in alongside its claws. Forty-four knows she’s scared. He knows it intimately—can feel it as vividly as he can feel his hand brushing against the wall.

She’s alone in a world with no sight and no sound. Maybe he’s supposed to be acting as _her_ tether in this situation, but he’s horribly aware of his own unreliability and unsteadiness. He doesn’t know what to do to make her safe. He knows she’ll never be safe while they’re in the labs.

The two of them are taken to Clemente some time later and made to sit apart while being examined. Aina had been alright for the first few minutes—Forty-four had been working at making sure she knew he wasn’t abandoning her.

It had been painful, forcing himself to crouch in the opposite corner and plug his ears while her screams ripped into his gut and had his toes curling anxiously, desperate to return to her side, but everything good in life had to hurt a little.

Despite his attempts, she quickly grew anxious and was beginning to call out for him—pathetic, wordless noises that wrenched at him and demanded he answer her cries.

“February ninth, nineteen-ninety-seven. Expansion of bond-sense appears to be a partial failure. No significant improvement can be observed at this time, although the bond seems to have grown unbalanced. Note: increased protective instincts, unsteadiness in dominant bond-holder role. Point of interest: perhaps self-confidence plays a role in Sky-void harmonies? Forty-three’s leadership role appears to have been disrupted, but Forty-four is hesitant to step forward. Hypothesis: Forty-four is deeply set in his protective role and the introduction of a failing commander is affecting his ability to remain stable. Another bond-mate might have stepped forward to seize control of the harmony.”

“…Note: the bond appears to be falling apart at a rapid pace.”

“…Actions going forward: Nearly enough data has been collected to perfect the Harmonization Bullet. Phase three should be initiated within the year; prepare for termination.”

____

Ryo thinks he’s four. Maybe?

Four. Forty-four?

They keep calling him that.

He could have sworn he was twenty-nine. Or, wouldn’t he be thirty now?

Forty-four.

Where did the name Ryo come from, anyways? That wasn’t his name.

His jaw ached.

There was a man who came and saw him often. He reminded Ryo of a skeleton—or, maybe the grim reaper. A terribly gaunt face filled with shadows, piercing blue eyes that peered out him from where they were set deep in the face. Ryo could see the parasites wriggling around in the man’s brain. He could feel them burrowing under his skin and eating their way through him, slowly working their way up his body and destroying everything in their path.

What was his name?

Where was his mom? He wanted to go home.

His neck was cold. Didn’t he have a scarf lying around here, somewhere?

Glancing around didn’t reveal a scarf. There was only white, stretching as far as the eye could see. Sterile white, blindingly bright and searing its way through him, lighting the way for the maggots that were making their home in his bones and organs. Aah…wasn’t Hibiki going to be coming for him soon?

Wait. Who?

He took a deep breath in, expecting the burn of salt and fresh air, but instead getting a lungful of fresh copper and stale rot, thinly veiled by the stench of bleach. It was strong enough to make his eyes water. Or maybe he was just crying. The man was smiling at him today, but his teeth were so large and sharp that Forty-four was scared he’d be eaten alive.

Wasn’t there a children’s story that went something like that? A little girl with a bright red hood (_“Wàishēng,” a gentle voice murmured_) who wandered through the woods, searching for her grandmother.

“My!” he giggled in the man’s face, “What big teeth you have!”

The man grinned wider, but his eyes grew colder for it.

“The better to eat you with, my dear.”

____

He’s nine years old and watching his—_friend, partner, cloud, sky, freedom, everything_—be taken apart, piece by piece. They’re both awake and fully aware for it, a deviation from the typical script. Aina is making noises that he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a living thing make.

Gut-wrenching, reedy sounds that are forced up as she screams so loud she gags on the remainder of her tongue every other second.

He doesn’t know what to do. Isn’t it pathetic? Isn’t he so pathetic?

What sort of friend is he?

He’s strapped down as well, trembling through the pain that echos unendingly through the tether that lashes the two of them together. There’s a nurse by his side, dutifully taking and recording his vitals, bobbing her head to Aina’s screams, as though they’re just a song on the radio.

Occasionally, one of the researchers conducting the dissection will hold up two identical organs that are still spilling purple flames. “It’s amazing to watch in real time, sir!” a young voice exclaims, eyes wide with excitement and elbow deep inside of Aina. “Propagation truly is a fantastic ability.”

“And yet, we still know so little,” Doctor Clemente sighs wistfully, like he wasn’t pulling Aina’s ribs out one by one. “It’s a pity we ruined this one.” They’re all crowded around her like vultures picking apart a carcass.

Ruined.

What a funny word.

He wants to laugh. To scream. To cry. To bite his tongue clean off and inhale until he drowns himself in his own blood.

They’d bring him back. He knew they would. It was useless—it was all useless. He wouldn’t be allowed to escape in any capacity, in life or in death. They would keep him here, one lab rat among many, the lot of them all stuffed into one, too-small cage so that their observers could laugh while watching them eat each other alive.

“Well, they’d certainly make fantastic organ donors!”

The group of researchers all laughed. Aina vomited, but her head was pushed to the side to clear out her airway.

“The pain-tolerance is incredible. Do you think this one is amplifying it?”

He was shaking, but it wasn’t from terror.

He could feel it when her body simply...gave up. The tether that held the two of them together snapped, like a metal slinky that had been stretched to its limits and only one person let go. It slammed into him, tearing at him from the inside out, screaming grief into his lungs and breathing hatred into the space behind his eyes.

It felt like deferred judgement. Like the absence of resolution. An unfinished story, an abandoned piece of poetry. Something like loneliness settled into that space where two had once curled up together, making the emptiness of that place all the more obvious. He tried to breathe through the agony, but his lungs _burned_ as though there was a fire eating away at his insides, breaking apart everything that had been long-established.

Curious voices chattered over him in delighted observation. The scribbling sound of pens, piercing blue eyes, and above all of it, a white ceiling. 

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt so lost, but in that moment all he could do was laugh.

____

Forty-four couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. Even now, his eyes just ached and burned, dully staring upwards, as though he was trying to find the meaning to life above himself. He certainly wouldn’t find it there—that ceiling only haunted his nightmares, both waking and living.

Maybe in another life, Forty-four would have learned to love the color white. It was a decent enough color, he figured, but after spending years staring at it and crying out for _someone, anyone_, it seemed to lose any potential to be anything positively related to him.

Purity, innocence, goodness, protection, and possibility. And wasn’t that just a rotten joke?

There wasn’t anything left in this place that had those qualities. They were all stained white—white, like sun-bleached bones or the whites of a terrified man’s eyes as he stared down certain death. 

The only thing in this hellish place that could possibly have been—good, kind, gentle—was Aina. _Aina_. The name made his throat ache, like someone had seized it and was softly, lovingly throttling him with a gentle kiss and a sincere wish for his death.

Someone had put Forty-four back in his bed, had tucked him in all sweet and cozy underneath his covers, uncaring of the blood of the innocents that stained their hands. From sterile white to deep, crimson red. The empty bed across from him was unavoidable, pointedly staring at him as if to say _you’ve lost something, dear_.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, pressing down so hard that all he could see was pitch black smeared rainbow stars, playfully bursting across his vision. It beat looking at the ceiling. By now, he knew the amount of tiles, lines, cracks, and right angles by heart.

“My! What a curious creature you are. I don’t suppose you’re _that_ sort of crossbreed?”

It was a voice he’d never heard before. Something new in a world of repetitive suffering. He peeled his hands away, slowly and carefully, to stare at the man who had somehow managed to slip into his room and sit on his bed without him noticing.

Maybe he was more out of it than he had originally thought. The shivering gap left in his chest shuddered in agreement, gaping maw slurping hungrily at everything it could touch and grotesquely cracking open wider and wider. A selfish beast, desperately trying to consume everything it could before it was stolen away.

The man smiled gently at Forty-four. _Aah_…this man was different, wasn’t he? The smile didn’t reach his eyes (it never did), but instead of cold-hearted sadism, all he could see was a man who had been broken down so thoroughly by the world’s cruelty, all that was left was pragmatism.

“How are you doing? Ryo, right?”

The name made him tremble. What was that?

“No,” he corrected—haltingly, deliberately. “I’m Forty-four.”

The man smiled at him, expression full of amused pity. It was the face of a man that knew he knew more, the expression of a pet owner laughing at their dog when they couldn’t understand where the treat had gone.

_It’s right here. It’s right underneath this cup,_ they would laughingly explain, bewildered by their pet’s abject stupidity.

“That’s not the name that this ring is calling for,” the man chucked. Aah. There’s the correction.

He opened his hand and there was a ring there—silver, with an ugly horn spiraling out the top. Something inside him shivered, whispering wordlessly and desperately reaching out for the object.

“This ring is looking for someone by the name of Ryo,” the man said. “It’s quite insistent that you’re who it wants.”

The name made something inside of him whine.

_A gentle hand, a long braid, a motorcycle revving, and a prideful smirk_.

“You want to leave, right?”

Leave? As in, the lab?

He shoved back the whisper of hope before it could even fully form.

“Who are you?” he tried, but it came out more like a plea. The man laughed like it was funny. For all he knew, maybe it was.

“What an interesting question,” the man replied, except it wasn’t really a reply. “This ring can let you leave.”

He glanced back down at the ring, still sitting on the man’s open palm. It seemed like it was glimmering at him, expectant and anticipatory.

“What is it?”

“Another interesting question,” the man smiled, eyes narrowing into amused slits. “Well, let’s just go with this. This ring will give you power as long as you satisfy it.”

“How do I satisfy it?”

“It isn’t my ring, so I don’t know what it wants,” he explained slowly, like he was talking to a dumb child. “That’s between you and it. Now, I’ve made the offer. Will you accept it?”

He stared blankly at the ring, absentmindedly reaching out to stroke its horn. A feeling of—_something_—shuddered up the bones of his arm. It felt like a question, a plea, a childish cry of _found you! Found you!_

Maybe that’s what had him taking the ring and slipping it onto his thumb. It still looked a little big, but after a few seconds of sitting loosely, it tightened around him. The man looked pleased, pure satisfaction dancing about in his smile, like foxes at a wedding.

“Good choice, Ryo—” he shuddered “—I’m glad.”

The man stood up, fingers trailing gently over the metal band that had been with him for as long as he can remember. “These fools have done quite the number on you,” the man sighed. “I’ll give you a little freebie, alright? Your memory should start to fully return soon after you’re out of their sphere of influence.” The man’s face looked a bit uncomfortable, pinching itself into a frown. “Don’t take this for more than it is; it’s just a little something to get you started. Good luck, Ryo. With any luck, you’ll never see me again.”

The band cracked down the center before crumbling away, leaving nothing—not even dust—behind. He stared at his uncovered wrist, free from its constant confines. Cold air kissed it in greeting, two friends that hadn’t seen each other in years. The skin was sickly and a weird, pale texture—it looked almost like a section had been taken out of someone else’s arm and implanted into him instead. Thinking of that made him want to laugh hysterically. In the end, he really was just a patchwork doll.

When he looked up again, the man was gone, without any trace of him ever being there. The camera was still humming along in the still silence of his room, but no alarms were going off and he couldn’t hear anyone running through the halls, alerted to an intruder’s presence.

Gingerly, he slipped off the bed and drifted over to the door. The world had taken on a dreamlike quality; it all felt strangely 2D and uncomfortably flat. Ignoring the feeling, he tried the doorknob. It was…unlocked?

A child’s voice was giggling at him.

_Revenge_, it whispered, _Justice. Kill them all. An eye for an eye._

Something shivered to life inside of Ryo—a little bit like blind fury, but mostly it felt like hatred. Coldly directed, laser-focused devotion towards a single cause. This place had burned him alive, so it really only seemed fitting to give thanks where thanks was due. What better flattery was imitation? The fire that flickered into existence wasn’t—_purple, like Skull’s hair shining obnoxiously in the sunlight_. It was different. Altered. Indigo.

Ryo could still sense the purple flames, but they didn’t quite feel complete. It felt like someone had grabbed them and mindlessly ripped chunks off of them. They lingered inside of him, sluggishly drifting, torn apart and scattered like glass shards from a broken mirror.

His mind felt jumbled and messy, thoughts and memories all blurred together and indistinguishable from one another. He couldn’t tell if he was looking out at Catania’s harbor or wandering the streets of Bologna, but blinking to clear his vision only showed him _white, white, white_.

Forty-four wandered through the lab that he’d previously only seen from a wheelchair, poking his head through doors and exploring inside. Inside of one room, Hibiki smiled gently at him and cocked her brow just so, in that way which meant she wasn’t opposed to the idea of a hug. Ryo left that room confused, disoriented, and covered in more blood than he’d entered with.

He could smell smoke somewhere, but he wasn’t too worried. It was him lighting the fires.

Occasionally, another experiment would dash past, blood-soaked and wide-eyed. Forty-four would meet their gaze and they’d both freeze on instinct before turning away from each other and moving on with lowered heads. They weren’t each other’s targets.

Eventually, Ryo found the records room. Filing cabinets lined the walls, full of files and packets of paper that detailed years of experimentation, abuse, and discoveries. Oddly enough, every scrap of information was kept solely on paper. Forty-four had never once seen a computer in all of his years in the lab. Medical equipment, sure, but never an actual desktop computer. It was strange, especially considering it was nearing the twenty-first century.

He tore drawers out of the cabinets with violent abandon, throwing them to the ground and emptying their contents into the middle of the room. Fengyong politely smiled at him, quietly proud, from across the room while Ryo set it all on fire. He watched it burn with dry eyes, long enough to make sure that the flames would continue until it was all burnt to ashes and blackened scraps. Forty-four made sure to knock the sprinkler off the ceiling before he left the room.

Ryo trotted through the alleyways of Catania, nodding at the _Piazza_ _nonno_ when he passed. The city was on fire and the streets covered in bodies, bleeding red and staining the white tile all the colors of the rainbow. He blinked and he was back in the lab, heading straight for the door at the end of the hallway.

Forty-four paused before shoving it open, suddenly hesitant. He was scared. The lab was scary too, but compared to the unknown…? He didn’t even have Aina with him. What was he supposed to do?

Ryo shook his head clear, sinking his canines into his lips to ground himself and ignoring the copper he tasted there. He _came_ from outside—from Catania, from the ocean, from free streets and boundless skies. 

Forty-four choked back thoughts of Aina, of hiding under the covers and giggling secretly, of white bleeding into white until his thoughts were blurrier than his vision, and he pushed open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 5/26: the update is definitely not going to happen tomorrow! i’ve only got about 2k down that was completed before i arrived at training, so i think i’ll be switching to a bimonthly update schedule. i’m still unsure of what my day-to-day will look like, so i’ll just play it by ear and try to get an update out next wednesday (if all goes well). honestly i still haven’t found a moment to even sit down with my laptop! thank you all so much for being patient and sticking with me! stay safe and have a lovely week!


	9. trouvaille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trouvaille: a chance encounter with something wonderful

The world was noisier than Ryo remembered. Children screaming, couples giggling, idle conversations between friends…after years of silence only broken up by whispered conversations and beeping machines, it was overwhelming. 

He didn’t know where he was, but the air smelled like cigarette smoke and wine.

He’d walked on foot for days, sleeping in bushes or the occasional barn next to peaceful, accepting livestock. It didn’t matter as long as there weren’t people. The sheer _loudness_ of the world was the most shocking part. Tree branches shivered and groaned under the weight of their own leaves and the wind happily whistled as it weaved cheerfully through the foliage. Forty-four had spent an entire day sitting underneath a tree, eyes shut and listening to the sounds of the world.

The sky was prettier then he’d ever imagined—boundlessly stretching in every direction and wonderfully blue. He kept glancing up, expecting a white ceiling and instead being met with the very thing Aina used to describe to him in hushed whispers, covers pulled up over their heads to shield them from the sight of that cursed room. 

It was oddly relieving. Anytime anxiety started to climb his spine—_footsteps in the woods, voices in the distance, were they coming to take him back?_—Forty-four would crouch in the brush and stare at the clouds overhead until he got his breathing under control.

After wandering through vineyards and gently sloping hills, he’d entered a city. It was bigger than Catania and different in every way that mattered. Thankfully, the alleyways were just as reliable. As soon as he managed to move after being paralyzed by sight of the crowds, Ryo made a sharp, familiar left turn and ducked into the winding back streets that every worthwhile Italian city possessed.

There were still a few people lingering, smoking cigarettes and cautiously watching Ryo out of the corners of their eyes, but it was a tolerable number, especially considering how they kept their distance. The tall buildings blocked out most of the sky, casting shadows over Ryo as he tried to calm the growing nausea and spiking panic.

Why had he left? Wasn’t the world just as scary—if not scarier—than he’d been told?

Forty-four pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried not to cry. The Doctor had been right, as always, but it was too late to go back. They would definitely kill him if he tried to return, proverbial tail tucked between his legs.

He wanted to laugh. They’d kill him, just like they killed Aina.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Ryo climbed back to his feet and snarled at all of the people staring at him, sneering to himself when their gazes were quickly averted. The pathetic creatures couldn’t stand to be corrected.

As soon as he turned to trot further into the city’s underbelly, the burning spots on his back returned.

Maybe it was the bloodstains.

____

It hadn’t been hard to find an abandoned building to hide away in. What had been difficult was the dread that seized him by the throat when he’d glanced up and couldn’t see the sky. 

Ryo _knew_ that he was being ridiculous, that he was out and the ceiling was made out of grey concrete. He could hear the people chattering away in the distance, the fountains gently spraying and the street vendors shouting out jacked-up prices to lure the next dumb tourist their way.

It didn’t stop the terror.

Forty-four stared at the horribly white ceiling and trembled. Doctor Clemente was talking to him, voice lilting and nearly lyrical as he described the proper way to take a child apart, bit by bit by bit. He bit into his hand to keep the pathetic noises building up in his throat from escaping, but the taste of copper just sent him spiraling further into bone-deep panic.

When Ryo calmed down enough to breathe, he rolled onto his hands and knees and dragged himself right back outside. It took more than a moment to pull himself to his feet, but once his hands finally figured out how to grab something again it was simple enough to use the wall as support to haul himself up.

There was a dumpster a few meters away, but even that short distance felt like miles when his knees were still weak. He made it—he always did—and wedged himself between the dumpster and the wall. There was only a small sliver of the sky he could see like this, but it was better than no sky at all.

Sleeping was a nightmare. He woke up what felt like every five minutes, sweating and searching wildly for the source of the shrieking that bounced around on the inside of his skull. It was always something silly—a brother and sister walking by, loudly discussing how good the crepes they had purchased were, a husband and wife, heads bent towards each other and giggling together over some dirty joke.

Occasionally, someone would walk past and Ryo felt like he was seeing double. A woman passed by, head held up so proudly and steps so purposeful that he nearly stumbled out to fall into line beside her. Instead, he tumbled back into his frantic dreams, heart beating wildly and chest aching with an emotion he couldn’t name.

Once night fell, Ryo crept out from behind his hiding spot, head down and shoulders up by his ears. His stomach was rumbling audibly, loud enough that a teenage boy walking by earlier had looked like he’d cry from fear from the noises emanating from behind the dumpster. 

Ryo didn’t have any pockets to stick his hands into—and that didn’t feel right, didn’t he always keep them tucked under something? His neck was cold—so he curled them under the hem of his shirt, making sure to shove his right hand close against his side.

He looked, for lack of a better word, grimy. His formerly white shirt was grey and brown from days spent sleeping in the dirt. Without sunlight exposing him, the bloodstains looked black.

Cautiously peering out into the streets, Ryo judged it empty enough and slipped out of the alleyway, head down. Lots of stores kept displays and clothing on hangers outside.

_Nimble fingers, keen eyes, and a strategic mind._

What was that he had told himself so long ago? Failure and half-heartedness were not an option.

Narrow eyes scanning the streets, Ryo’s gaze landed on a shop that fell right next to the entrance of an abandoned side street. The light next to it was flickering, struggling to keep itself alight. He couldn’t really tell what they were selling from a distance, but there were at least a few long-sleeved shirts that he could see.

Eyes directed forward and pace steady and purposeful, Ryo passed by the store, grabbing a hanger without looking and immediately ducking into the mouth of the alley, speeding away with a pounding heart. He couldn’t hear anyone shouting or following after him, but Ryo didn’t stop until he’d turned a few corners.

He shot a quick glance upwards before leaning against a wall and holding the stolen goods—he’d _done_ it no one stopped him he didn’t need to wrap his wounds he succeeded wouldn’t she be so proud—out at arms length to study it.

It was a simple grey hoodie, but the front was embossed with “I [heart] Florence” and it was definitely three sizes too big. _Christo_…he was going to look like an embarrassing tourist.

With a furtive look around, Ryo stripped the disgusting shirt off (he wanted to gag at the way it peeled off of him) and quickly pulled the hoodie on before the cold air could do much more than brush against him. It was enough to send shivers wracking through him, body unused to having to regulate its temperature.

He hadn’t gotten any pants or underwear, but that would probably have to wait until he could get actual money. The short distance he had run was enough to exhaust him, muscles still weak and lightheaded from a lack of food. Forty-four had dealt with worse, though, and being able to breathe without smelling rot and decay lent him enough energy to keep moving forward.

He walked on, mindlessly wandering and stomach cramping. The late hour and windchill had driven most people indoors to their warm beds, but several restaurants were still open and full of loud patrons.

Ryo crouched near the backdoor of one and waited until a young man in an apron shoved his way outside, two trash bags dangling in his loose grip. They were deposited on the ground next to the full dumpster in short order, the man sighing in relief and stretching his back once he was rid of his burden. Ryo waited until he was back inside before creeping forward and ripping one of them open.

Near the top was what looked like the remains of some mysterious pasta dish, red sauce smeared everywhere and partially mixed with what appeared to be a wilted salad. Ryo shoveled it into his mouth with his bare hands, hardly chewing before swallowing it whole.

It looked absolutely disgusting. It was in the trash and he could see the used napkins that it had been sitting on even as he ate it. He probably looked like some common street dog, ravenously digging for even the most pathetic scraps.

But still…

But still, on a tongue that had grown numb, that had lived for years on watery soups, old fruit, and stale bread, it tasted something like an absence of chains and relief.

____

Going out during the day was too difficult. Eyes sharper than daggers stabbed into him the moment he poked his head out of the back streets, as if to scold him for daring to step into the light. Filthy creatures like him were meant to stay out of sight, hidden away behind dumpsters and kept from the public eye.

Instead, he tried to sleep while the sun was up and only crept forth from whatever cranny he was hiding in once the crowds thinned out.

Having the ability to just…walk around was exciting and terrifying in equal measure. The freedom of choice was overwhelming in its boundlessness, stretching as unendingly before him as the sky. Nighttime found Ryo sulking through the city’s backstreets, head tilted back to stare at the sky and flinching away from any drunks that stumbled too near with touchy hands and rambling, slurred words.

The city’s nightlife was rather interesting. Tourists and locals alike flowed through the streets, empty voices raised and numb laughter echoing off the cobblestones until it reached wherever Ryo was crouched, idly watching the tidal wave of people crowd together in a morbidly entertaining waltz, gluttonously gulping down anything they could wrap their fingers around and loudly hunting for the next best thing to numb the pain of daily life. 

Loud, ambiguous noise was comforting. It drowned out the quiet beeping and low, methodical murmurs that whispered unendingly at Forty-four—just barely out of sight, but certainly never out of mind.

It was hard to ignore something when the marks were still so glaringly obvious. He chanced a glance down at his right hand, tightly pressed against his torso. The weakness of it was obvious from its frail structure, paper-like skin wrinkling over the protruding, thin bones of his warped knuckles and fingers.

He shoved the partially numb fingers deeper into the pocket of his hoodie to hide it from the watchful eyes around him before slipping further into the alleyways, cautious gaze flitting from person-to-person to check for any ill intentions.

Stale air suffocated him as he crept over the uneven cobblestone, left hand absentmindedly trailing over the damp walls, dragging the horned ring over the dumpsters just to listen to the way the metal shrieked in agony. Part of him was comforted by the noise, eyes fluttering shut and vision swimming with purple stars and blonde hair. 

The city was starting to suffocate him, backstreets familiar enough to cause a gut-wrenching ache that sat low in his nasal cavity, paranoia creeping up behind him and nipping at his heels. Footsteps thudded behind him, shuffling along in a way that sounded like a poor imitation of a predator’s stalk. The memories were fuzzy, unfamiliar, but Ryo trusted his mother’s whispers for caution and gentle reminders to remain observant.

Heart pounding and anxiety gnawing at the base of his tongue, Ryo ducked his head low and relaxed his shoulders. It was easy enough to fall into the confident, silent strut of his childhood, unfamiliarly long legs swallowing up the ground with each predatory stride. Almost instinctively, his left hand curled into a fist at his side while a familiar sneer slithered its way onto his face.

His feet were still bare, but after so many years that way, it was hard to imagine a life any other way. Mindful steps vanished into silence, a cautious heel-toe that was well-ingrained in him by both mother and uncle. Like this, it was hard to blink away the sight of sunny streets and the feeling of calloused hands caressing his cheeks, salty air filling his lungs while an old man’s voice scolded him, words indistinguishable from the ringing that was rattling its way through his head.

As soon as Ryo turned the corner, he slipped through a door that had been left cracked open, rolling as quietly as he could until he was concealed behind what looked like a counter. He shoved himself up against it, hand pressed over his mouth to muffle his breathing and biting down on the cold metal wrapped around his finger.

The footsteps stopped abruptly, scuffing against the cobblestone as the—_threat, predator, hunter_—turned around in circles. He couldn’t see them, but his sharp ears easily picked up the sound of muted beeping.

“Sir? It’s me. I saw a kid matching the description, but—“

_I’m not here._

__

__

I’m not here.

Don’t see me.

Stop looking.

Please.

_Please._

“—I think it was just a trick of the light.”

The woman sounded confused, fuzzy.

The longer he lay there, the blurrier the world became.

Fingers curled around his biceps, bruising grip growing tighter by the second. They felt like a child’s hands, small and innocent.

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

Endless, gut-wrenching white stretched above him, fluorescent lights so bright it felt as though his skin was being painstakingly stripped away, flaying him open layer by layer while a heartbreakingly familiar voice murmured instructions to him.

_I’m not here._

“Hm? I’m…okay. Yeah, just a weird headache.”

Forty-four dry heaved, curling up tighter and absentmindedly wondering to himself where the flowers had come from. Snapdragons sprung up from his split chest cavity, rooting themselves deep into his sternum and curling their way through his ribs. At this rate, he’d have to cut them out if he wanted to be rid of them. He could feel the roots tickling against the back of his teeth, winding their way around his tongue and making their home in his throat.

“Yep, sounds good. See you tomorrow, sir!”

The woman’s departure barely registered, distracted as he was by the fox lounging in the corner of the room, a red herring dangling from its mouth. It would occasionally tremble and twitch, matching the pulsations of his right hand.

Forty-four pressed his eyes shut against the sight of ghostly blue eyes and focused on the chills emanating from the ring on his hand until he fell asleep.

____

“Ah, excuse me?”

A young man was knelt a few feet away from Forty-four, hesitant despite being the one to confront what was undoubtedly an intruder. Forty-four couldn’t muster up enough of a reaction before soul-deep terror lodged itself in his throat and made it impossible to speak. 

The walls around him felt too close—he felt confined, trapped in his own skin and unable to escape. And yet, for all of his anxiety, he couldn’t do much more than lie still and wait for the inevitable.

Perhaps the man could see his discomfort, or maybe he really was just polite. Regardless of his reasons for doing so, Forty-four was relieved when the man scooted away, sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Sorry about that,” he chuckled, “I guess no one really likes to be leaned over like that.”

Forty-four couldn’t figure out how to speak the reassurances that sat at the tip of his tongue, well practiced after years of soothing away a little girl’s worries. His hands relaxed on their own, left hand twitching its way to the ground so he could push himself up into a seated position.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Purple bloomed in Ryo’s vision, cheerfully wrapping itself around the man’s shoulders and curling its way across the floor to nip at his fingers, friendly and inquisitive. The heat burned cold, familiar enough to have his throat aching and defenses toppling at the slightest whisper of protection.

“I-,” he choked out, voice reedy and thin, rough from disuse. It broke and his gaze fell to the floor, hands clenched into fists.

How humiliating.

“A-Ah,” the man raised his hands up, as though to wave away the discomfort. “I’m Ottavio. Sorry. It was rude of me to ask without offering my own name first.”

Really? Was that it?

…

When was the last time someone had bothered with manners around him?

_”Call me Jiùjiu.”_

His name. He’d been called Forty-four for years, but that didn’t seem like an actual name. Aina had been pretty insistent that it wasn’t. Ryo seemed to fit the bill, too, but even that name fit awkwardly in his mouth when he tried to speak it.

_Your name is meant to be Yun Feihong,_ a quiet voice whispered. 

That didn’t seem right either, too intensely private to be shared with the world. It felt like a name that was better kept close to his heart, zealously defended and held apart from the rest of him—away from the violent pieces that were almost desperately trying to shove themselves back together, broken edges and all. It was missing a few pieces of the puzzle.

“Ryo,” he finally breathed out, forcing the word past the boundaries of his mouth despite the awkward feel of it.

“Ryo? That’s a nice name. Where are you from?”

Trying to think of that place, of sea breezes and sleepy mornings, of a time when he was loved and protected, brought stars and blurry colors to his vision, smearing into an abstract rainbow across the room and sending the whispers of confidence that had begun to stir toppling back into themselves.

_”Use yer fuckin’ words! Are ya a damn animal?”_

(The slurred, heavily accented voice rubbed Ryo the wrong way immediately, sending his hair standing up on end and near instantaneously sparking up muted irritation. His teeth ached to bite something—or someone.)

Thinking back only brought Forty-four flashes of scalpels reflecting fluorescent lights and the sound of a pen scratching away on paper.

“Dunno,” he finally decided upon, lips twitching down into a scowl, a motion so easy that it felt like coming home after years of being away. 

The man smiled with his eyes, the gentle expression soothing Ryo’s raw nerves. “That’s too bad,” he responded, slowly standing up, palms out and movements carefully predictable. Ryo’s eyes followed him, half lidded and sharpening absentmindedly. There was a bit of blood on the cuffs of the man’s suit jacket, crimson on charcoal gray. The emblem over his left kidney was carefully dulled. “Would you like some water? Or tea, if there’s any.”

The mention of water had Ryo’s throat drying up, suddenly parched. He nodded, a slight dip of the chin that Ottavio would have missed had he not been looking for it. The man started digging through cupboards, opening and closing them until he finally located the one containing glasses. It was a simple task to fill them from the sink, but Ryo couldn’t help but fixate on the running water and the utter novelty of it.

It was nearly enough to make him laugh.

The glass was cool on Ryo’s palms, quietly kissing his ring with nothing more than a bell-like _clink_. Ottavio was blatantly staring at it. Ryo couldn’t blame him—it was exceptionally hideous.

The ring seemed to avoid the light that the glass was reflecting, instead preferring to maintain a dulled appearance. Forty-four appreciated its efforts, eyeing the horn alongside his fair headed companion to try and figure out what exactly he’d taken notice of.

“A very intriguing design,” Ottavio eventually remarked, tone airy. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

It was, all in all, one of the most polite what-the-fuck-is-that’s Ryo had ever heard. Not that he’s heard a lot of them.

Ryo shrugged a bit in response, setting the glass down and tucking his left hand away into his hoodie pocket to rendezvous with the right hand. Having someone stare at him was starting to send icy hot prickles running up his spine, discomfort curling through his toes. 

Ottavio didn’t seem to know where to go from there, smiling blankly and holding his own glass of water as though it were toxic. He hadn’t taken a sip, instead seeming to prefer to stare at it and imagine what it tasted like.

(Forty-four wondered what he had tasted like when the Doctor chewed him up until he was nothing but paste to spit out.)

“It seems quite unique,” he finally remarked. “Have you had its authenticity checked yet?”

Ryo sat there and felt the metal vibrate around his thumb, sweetly singing a reminder of its presence (as if Ryo could ever forget about it). It was violently obtrusive and, frankly, ostentatious. The impractical thing got caught on practically every surface it touched, simply for the pleasure of either ripping something apart or screeching against it, a grotesque cacophony springing forth as if to say _I don’t belong here, don’t you know?_

“No.”

It wasn’t like he didn’t know it was real—or, as real as anything else in this world.

“What a shame—” a genuinely thoughtful hum “—You know, I have a jeweler friend. I’m sure she’d love to take a look at it if you’d like.”

What was the point? Fake or real, real or fake…it all just fell away in the end. Flowers withered away and petals faded, gradually creeping into a husk of itself until the observer couldn’t tell the flower from dirt. Ryo would die, cold metal possessively wrapped around his finger and selfishly siphoning his heat away with sugared whispers and caramel purrs, delighted to follow him into the grave and further beyond. In the end, it was just him, the ring, and the ghosts clinging to his ankles, loud groans demanding retribution for an injustice Forty-four couldn’t even name.

“Ryo? Are you alright?” Ottavio leaned forward, brow scrunched up. The furrow there was deep enough to comfortably house a family of four, but perhaps the misery wouldn’t be able to fit anymore. It would come bursting out of there—a straw mattress stuffed to the brim and more—something’s insides spilling to the outside.

Forty-four’s jaw ached, eyesight blurring Ottavio into a distorted mess of shapes and sounds.

“Honestly,” the fedora-adorned man scoffed from behind Ryo’s elbow, “Didn’t your uncle teach you better than this?”

“Yeah,” Ryo admitted, distracted by the long, elegantly twirling braid that was disappearing behind a wall.

Ottavio sat back, content. “Sounds like a plan.”

The man was handsome when he grinned, refined features stretching into something a little more palatable for the casual observer, certainly more friendly and approachable.

Ryo bared his teeth back on instinct, eyes drawn to the sharp glass cutting thin lines into Ottavio’s lips from where they sat embedded in his gums. The man laughed at him, blood arcing and splattering to the ground in wet globs. Maggots wriggled there on the ground, bodies twisting and melding into each other, closer and closer together until they disappeared into the space between existence without hardly a noise.

“We should get going, don’t you think? Overstaying our welcome wouldn’t be very considerate of our hosts. Well, I suppose they wouldn’t have much to say about it”

Forty-four allowed the man to pull him to his feet, vertigo slamming into his skull and tilting the world dangerously to the side—or maybe it was him that had gone all diagonal. It didn’t seem to matter either way. Ottavio had a stable hold on his shoulder. It was a bit odd. For all of its firmness, the man’s grip was almost breathtakingly gentle. He was holding Forty-four, not binding or restraining or 

_pressing down against his head with all of his weight and laughing as his skull gave out and buckled, purple flames pathetically licking the wounds and attempting to knit, heal, propagate, soothe._

“It’s been awhile since I last took a train ride with someone so young.”

Ryo blinked and he was seated next to Ottavio, staring blankly out the window and watching the distant city lights blur by.

“How old are you anyways, geezer?” 

“G-geezer?!” Ottavio looked taken aback, voice taut with disbelief. The word dripped from his mouth like it was distasteful, as though it were a child so warped even its mother would shield her eyes and turn away from shame. “I’ll have you know I’m still plenty young! Twenty-nine is simply a gentle step into one’s thirties—which, mind you, is the beginning of your best years. Physical maturity has no bearing on your actual youth or lack thereof!”

The laugh bubbled out of Ryo’s throat, so crooked and misshapen that it was difficult to recognize it as such. His mouth felt stiff, unpracticed, as it arranged itself into a grin so rough it grated like sandpaper against his cheeks.

Ottavio paused in his righteous rant, glancing down at Ryo and grinning along with him. “You should smile more,” he hummed, “If you frown all the time your skin will wrinkle, then you’ll look like you’re sixty when you get to be my age.”

Sixty, hm?

Would he ever reach that?

Well, he was already Forty-four.

Yellowish, pale tentacles wrapped around his fingers, playfully toying with the ring there and bubbling joyfully. Its blue rings shimmered and flickered, purple flames whispering their way over the back of his hand.

“What are you looking at this time?” Ottavio asked, curiously glancing down at Forty-four’s empty hands. Forty-four couldn’t meet the man’s gaze, enchanted by the way the octopus was melting into viscous sludge, sticking to his hands and dragging its way down to his lap—slowly, lasciviously.

“The octopus,” he responded, voice no louder than a whisper.

“Mm,” came the considering hum, “I could see a little bit of it a moment ago. Where did it go?”

Where did he go?

_The smell of motor oil, the purr of a well-loved engine, sweet gelato sparking away on his tongue, quiet understanding and loud laughter._

Where was he?

_A crumpled letter and grief so deep he thought he might just drown in it._

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Ryo murmured back, quietly trying to scoop the sludge into a recognizable shape, back into an octopus. His hands passed straight through it. Hands with nails painted purple hung over his shoulders, firm body weight pressing into him from behind, cold and hopelessly dead.

“I suppose I’m not the one who can answer that,” Ottavio slid an arm over Ryo’s shoulder, silently pulling him close. “It’s alright, though. I can sit here with you until you do.”

Ryo shivered at the warmth, the touch reeking of humanity and the possibility of familiarity. For a moment, he considered pulling away. It would make sense. This man was a virtual stranger, after all, and even if he wasn’t, Ryo had intimately learned the dangers of affection. But—

Even so—

Couldn’t he—

...

The ghosts were gone and Ottavio was there.

In the end, weren’t the facts all that mattered?

Ryo reached up and tangled his fingers in the man’s overcoat, throat aching and eyes burning. This kind of emotion was dangerous, but—

But—

A hug every once in a while was okay, right?

____

The castle Ottavio brought him to looked as though it was meant to appear intimidating, but it was hard to be scared with the man gushing about the difference between store-brand pens and hand-crafted. Ryo drifted along next to the man as he was led towards the entrance, listening halfheartedly while glancing around at his new environment.

Tall, scraggly trees reached up to trail their branches through the dark sky, dipping pointy sticks into the stars and swirling them about with silenced whispers. Birds nested in the trees, sharp, too-intelligent eyes following Ottavio and Ryo as they approached the castle. Occasionally, one would burst from the boroughs with an ear-splitting shriek—almost human-like in its fury—wings splaying out and feathers shivering apart as it drifted up to blend into the night sky without further evidence of its existence.

“It’s beautiful, right?” Ottavio hummed, hand squeezing a touch where it rested on Ryo’s shoulder. It was enough to ground him, gaze switching from the hardly-there glimpses of dark coats behind trees to look up at Ottavio’s gentle smile, bright enough to draw him in with all the devotion of a moth to the light. “The boss takes pride in the landscaping.”

“Ah,” Ryo looked a bit closer at the overgrown hedges and unnaturally large thorns peeking out from the rose bushes. He was pretty sure they weren’t in season, but large, luminescent red petals furled out like lush ballroom skirts, twirling pleasantly under the moonlight. The color burned on the back of his eyelids, searing into him with a whisper of _oh, it’s been awhile_.

Ottavio laughed, breathy and slightly subdued. “Well, he certainly has a flair for the dramatics, you know? If you ask me, it’s a bit eerie.”

Forty-four reached up to grab at the corner of Ottavio’s coat with his good hand, dragging himself down to earth with the feeling of smooth, fine fabric tangling between his fingers and ripping beneath the twisted horn that arced out from his thumb. The man didn’t seem to mind.

The inside of the castle was luxuriously designed, deep maroons and rich golds sinking into the plush rugs and gaudy furniture. There was a woman leaned up against an archway, foot tapping an anxious tempo while she watched them approach. Forty-four would probably care more if his throat hadn’t closed the moment the sky disappeared from view. Ottavio’s hand was hot against his shoulder, sinking low into his flesh and warming away the bone-deep chill that was wracking through him.

“Valeria,” Ottavio greeted, releasing Ryo’s shoulder to reach forward and kiss the woman’s cheek. She pinched his nose to stop him, pushing him back to a standing position.

“Don’t try your luck, you foolish man,” she snorted, folding her arms and tilting her head to observe Ryo. She sighed after a moment, long and drawn out. “Honestly, all you seem to do is bring back trouble. Where’d you find a kid this time?”

Ryo stared behind her shoulder, unable to tear his eyes away from the flies that were buzzing about the burning corpse, ignoring the flames and crawling into the space where a head should be. The noise of it was horrible—maddening, high-pitched droning obtrusively echoed as the body’s bones splintered beneath the heat and cracked open, worms spilling forth and wriggling about where the marrow should have been.

Valeria’s face twisted into something resembling exasperation and edging on confusion. “Really, Ottavio?” she groaned, hand reaching up to massage the bridge of her nose, “Of all the unstable mutts you could have found, you choose a Mist?”

“Well, something like that,” he chucked back, massaging the back of Ryo’s neck to bring the boy’s attention back to reality. A blink later, and the body was gone—Valeria seemed to relax at it. “He stumbled into me, so to speak.”

“Weren’t you in Florence taking care of the rat infestation?”

“I was! In fact, I seem to have located the source.”

Valeria groaned louder, squeezing the sides of her head as though she wished it would just collapse under the pressure and kill her. He’d never seen that happen, but it was easy enough to watch as the side of her head bubbled up and began to expand—like a too-full balloon, warping and stretching to its limits before it finally—

Ottavio snapped his fingers in front of Forty-four’s eyes, breaking the line of sight and shocking him back to the sight of Valeria, grey and sweating profusely, leaned up heavily against the wall.

“Well, he’s certainly got quite the imagination,” she coughed hoarsely, touching her cheek delicately, as though to check and see if it were still present.

Was it a figment of his imagination if something really was occurring? Where was the boundary between reality and the mind? These days, it felt like he was walking that line like an unsteady tightrope, a vicious wind biting into his skin as it swayed him back-and-forth, across and over that line with each and every step he took.

“It’s a bit shocking at first. I wanted you to take a look at his ring; it’s quite the curiosity.”

Valeria bit her lip for a moment, considering Forty-four with all the hesitation of a homeowner trying to kill the cockroach that had invaded her home. It would have hurt more if he hadn’t already accepted his role as the scum of society.

Ottavio gently took his hand and held it out to show off the hideous flaw that had made its home there, spiking forth obtrusively and defensively. Ryo could feel the mute vibrations numbing his hand and curling up his arm angrily, daring its observers to attempt and remove it as it tightened and loosened again in the same breath.

Recognition spiked in Valeria’s eyes; she didn’t seem quite able to school her expression quite as well as Ottavio. “You’re kidding,” she laughed numbly in disbelief while crouching down to get a better look, “You actually found one?”

“Well, found a host, at least,” Ottavio admitted, “But it’s a vital first step! This confirms their existence if it’s the real deal. I wanted a second opinion before I showed the boss. What do you think?”

Valeria made eye contact with Ryo, carefully searching for _something_ in him—he couldn’t really figure out what. He felt like a mosquito that had been pinned down by the wings, unable to do much more than twitch before its observers. The feeling was uncomfortably familiar.

He blinked away the blinding fluorescents and stared back. Her eyes were firm with conviction, but almost heartbreakingly kind. She seemed satisfied with whatever she got, carefully reaching forward to stroke the ring along its horn, fingers sparking indigo. 

It shivered visibly at the heat that sunk into it, greedily slurping down whatever it was offered and more with the all of the gluttony of a starving man. An unfamiliar warmth speared through Ryo’s fingers, tingling painfully underneath his fingernails and trying to escape through the fingertips before something frigid cannibalized it whole.

Valeria tore her hand away from it in half a moment, laughing in disbelief while she stared wide-eyed at the ring. “That’s crazy,” she gasped, “It drew in my flames!”

Ottavio looked excited, dark eyes shining with something that seemed to reek of hope. “It’s just like the book said,” he explained, grinning down at Ryo, “Hey, do you mind if we borrow your ring for a bit to look at it some? Valeria is a bit of an expert on this subject.”

The thought of the ring being taken away—his ticket to freedom, the sole arbitrator of his justice—sent cold spikes into his gut. 

Satisfaction. Where is the satisfaction in this?

_An eye for an eye!_

The familiarity of two lovers reunited, a long lost friend returning home, an endless journey in search of the answer to the question of: What is satisfaction?

Wasn’t that for him to answer? Wasn’t he the one supposed to find that end, that goal, that means? Who were these people to try and seize that from him?

_Thieves_, the cold metal hissed, _traitors, bandits, scoundrels!_

_An eye for an eye!_

What was worth justice? What could balance that particular scale? Nothing this man and woman possessed could even out the demand for _justice, revenge, a life for a life_.

The ring was strangling his thumb with how tight it had grown, icy chill nearly unbearable.

Where was the equality in this trade?

There wasn’t. Nothing could be worth the cries for that man’s life. Nothing could even out the score that his soul was gnashing at the bit to resolve.

“You want it?” he whispered, voice empty—he felt cold, far removed from the present moment. Dead, skeletal hands were clawing at his ankles, shrieking at him to balance the scales.

Ottavio’s smile was strained and Valeria’s foot was tapping again.

“Ah, well,” the man coughed, “Perhaps observing it without removal would allow for a more natural record?”

“That sounds far more preferential!” Valeria hummed, voice forcibly even, “But maybe tomorrow? It’s a bit late for us to begin, I believe. Regardless, this looks like the real deal.”

“A fair point,” Ottavio allowed, excitement sparking up again, “We’ll come and find you tomorrow, then?”

“You know where to find me,” she laughed dryly, harshly patting the man’s cheek. She gave Forty-four a stilted wave before retreating from the room with pointedly slow steps. Ryo stared blankly at her back, wondering if he was imagining the shadows that stretched and writhed behind her, reaching for his wrists to coax him to follow. Ottavio’s warm hand rested on his back, warding off the biting cold.

“Come on, then,” he hummed, expression bordering on something like pity.

The man’s room was understated. The furniture looked to be good quality but not anything horribly gaudy. It was quiet, neutral tones—a relieving break from colors rich enough to make Ryo’s gums sore. Ottavio left Ryo standing in the entry, striding forth to pull open the wooden wardrobe and sift through the clothes hanging there.

It was almost comical. Hadn’t he been sleeping behind dumpsters not twenty-four hours earlier? Now he was standing in some rich man’s room, struck dumb by the sight of simple luxuries. Running water, a mattress, and windows so large it felt like he was still outdoors—these small pleasures were enough to drive an ever-widening cavern between two parts of society. The absurdity of daily life was nearly enough to make him laugh.

Ryo blinked and Ottavio was pressing a large, blue sleeping shirt into his limp hand while guiding him to the bathroom. The shower was running, steam billowing forth like a cloud, wispy and humid.

“There’s toiletries inside the shower and an extra toothbrush under the sink,” the man explained, “Feel free to use whatever you need and let me know when you’re finished.”

Ryo nodded, a bit dumb-struck and dizzily considering the white tile with the idle curiosity of a dying man. Ottavio smiled at him and exited, shutting the door behind and leaving him

alone.

It was hard to breathe, walls closing in and sterile chill creeping up his spine, horribly familiar. Nausea was spinning low in his gut, shifting about between his organs and stirring the rot that was living in the space between his bones. It crept forth with all the sultry ease of a predator stalking forth for the kill. Flies were buzzing near the lights, their tiny bodies crashing into the glass and falling to the ground like confetti.

He stood there, petrified in the face of his own weakness. A quiet rap at the door was enough to make him blink, and the noise quieted to a tolerable level.

“Are you alright, Ryo? It’s been awhile.”

Had it? It seemed like just a few seconds had passed.

“I’m coming in. Are you decent?”

Ottavio paused for a moment before cracking the door open slowly, then all at once when Ryo failed to object. He hadn’t moved from where Ottavio had left him, shirt hanging loosely from his grip and staring blankly at the wall. The man sighed a bit behind him, gently taking the shirt from Ryo’s hand and placing it on the counter.

“Do you need help?”

Wasn’t that the question. How many times had he wished there was someone there to help? Someone older, wiser, bigger, stronger.

_(How many times had he cried out for her?)_

Ryo managed to shrug, the simple movement feeling like he was shoving mountains. Ottavio paused for a bit, lips pursing in thought as he crouched in front of Ryo.

“You can say no,” the man cautiously tried, watching Ryo as though he might shatter to pieces if he breathed wrong.

What did that matter? It didn’t mean anything as long as someone was strong enough to subjugate the weak. The world was cruel—it didn’t give half a thought for things like consent and denial.

Ottavio hummed a little at the lack of response, considering. “How about this,” he finally decided, “I can help you get ready to get clean. I’ll ask you before I do anything and wait for you to nod if it’s okay for me to do. If you ever want me to stop and leave, blink twice. I’ll do so immediately. Do you want to try? It’s okay to say no right now if you don’t want me to help.”

It took a moment to process. Honestly, it sounded like a joke. Even so, a tiny part of Forty-four’s brain was eagerly leaning forward, something dangerously approaching hope starting to stir in his chest. He managed a tiny nod, ignoring the way Ottavio’s smile made him relax.

“Alright,” the man said, “I’m going to help you take off your shirt. Is this alright?”

Ryo nodded, watching Ottavio’s hands with sharp eyes as the man lifted the hem of Ryo’s hoodie and pulled it off. The chill was enough to send goosebumps racing across his skin. Ottavio carefully folded the hoodie and placed it off to the side. He didn’t have much of a reaction to the scars that twisted and warped Ryo’s torso, remnants of bright lights and people who didn’t take no for an answer.

Ryo pulled his right hand across his chest, holding it there tightly to try and hide it from view. Ottavio didn’t need to see the disgusting disfigurement that had made the Doctor smile pityingly every time he saw it.

(Maybe he was scared that Ottavio would grin at it too.)

“Good job, Ryo,” Ottavio praised, “Can I help you with your pants?”

The man waited for Ryo to nod before helping him step out of them, gaze firmly fixed on Ryo’s eyes to watch for any sign of discomfort. It didn’t come.

“You’re doing well. Is it alright for me to help you into the shower?”

Out of idle curiosity, Ryo blinked twice.

“Thank you for letting me know,” Ottavio said and stood up, exiting the bathroom with swift strides and closing the door behind him with a soft click. The man’s absence wasn’t really the shocking part. Ryo was too busy staring at the door to focus on the shivering that had begun to wrack his body. He had listened? Wait. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Wait.

What?

Warmth was blooming beneath Ryo’s sternum, hot enough to beat back the chill of being unclothed. Ottavio had listened. He had listened? Was he gone?

(He was alone.)

“W-Wait,” Ryo choked out, voice catching in his suddenly dry throat. “Come back!”

“I’m still here,” Ottavio promised from behind the closed door. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Come back,” Ryo repeated, hands trembling. That wasn’t right. His hands weren’t supposed to shake, his hands were meant to be steady and purposeful.

_Keep your hands up._

The door opened a crack. “Is it alright for me to come in?”

“Yes,” Ryo croaked, tension releasing from his shoulders only when Ottavio was back in sight. The man crouched down in front of him again, smiling softly at Ryo.

“Hey, you did well,” Ottavio reassured, “Would you like me to help you into the shower?”

“Yeah,” Ryo whispered back, reaching forward to grab the man’s shirt to reaffirm that the man was physically present. Ottavio’s heart was beating beneath Ryo’s palm, strong and firm and _alive_.

It felt good to be cleaned, layers of grime streaking off of him and fleeing down the drain. The water beat against his scalp and back, running down his spine and taking years of misery with it. Ottavio helped him shampoo his hair, gently massaging it in and covering his eyes before helping to rinse it out. Ryo washed his body himself, scrubbing with a clean rag and hypnotized by the way it rasped against his skin while Ottavio faced the wall.

The towel was unbelievably soft, whispering against him with promises of gentle touches and comfort. Ryo dressed himself, carefully feeding both of his arms through the sleep shirt to avoid tearing it. Ottavio helped dry his hair, blow dryer humming loud enough to drown away the hesitations and fears that continued to tear into the base of his brainstem.

Ryo was already half asleep by the time Ottavio picked him up to set him on the bed, carefully drawing the covers up to rest below his chin. He blinked sleepily up at the man, drinking in the nostalgic expression that was twisting the man’s features.

“Good night, Ryo,” Ottavio murmured with pained eyes, gently stroking Ryo’s hair, still warm and fluffy. “I hope you have sweet dreams.”

____

Morning found a fully dressed Ottavio gently shaking Ryo awake. Comfort rather than fear stirred up in his gut, soothing away the instinctual tension that came with each new day. “Did you sleep well?” the man asked, helping Ryo sit up with a hand on his back.

He stared blankly at the man before shrugging his shoulders and kicking the blankets off of himself with a quiet huff. “There’s clothes in the bathroom for you and your toothbrush is on the counter,” Ottavio called out over his shoulder while walking towards the armchair by the window. A book was already open on the seat, laid face down to mark its spot. “I’ll be here if you need help, okay?”

The man was weird. What kind of adult was so mindful? 

Ryo slid off the bed after a quick glance outside the windows to reassure himself, cautiously trotting to the restroom. He left the door cracked open behind him and chanced a glance at the clothing that was folded on the seat of the toilet. His stolen hoodie was there, but it looked clean for once. The pants had been totally replaced with khaki shorts—a loss he surely wasn’t mourning.

Changing was a quick affair and it was a massive relief to stick his right hand into the hoodie pocket, tension that he hadn’t even been aware of slipping out of his jaw. At some point, a stool had been brought in and was sitting in front of the counter. Carefully, he climbed up, purposefully avoiding the mirror and instead going straight for the toothbrush. It was awkward with his left hand—stilted, messy, and unpracticed. 

It was honestly humiliating. What kind of person couldn’t even brush their teeth well?

His right hand twitched.

Ryo spit the foam into the sink, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand before rinsing off the brush. It was only then that he dared to look at himself.

For a moment he saw double—triple(?)—the face staring back at him blurring into obscurity. It was difficult to recognize the youth in the mirror as himself. The boy’s eye bags were deeply carved, dark purple staining the delicate skin there. He was skinny, just on the side of too-gaunt and mouth pressed into a firm line, cracked lips nearly white from how tight they were pushed together. The boy in the reflection looked exhausted. 

Previously uncontrollable, slightly curled hair was limp and dull where it sat wispily on his forehead, parts of it long enough to brush past his eyebrows. The worst flaw was the uneven, small _44_ etched into the skin just below the corner of his left eye.

Ryo wasn’t sure how long he stared at that hideous number, but his face was long numb by the time Ottavio peeked his head in. The man was gentle as he pulled Forty-four away from the mirror, guiding him out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom. He was talking about something, voice soft and purposefully even. He clung to the indistinguishable words, trying to focus on him rather than the man whispering promises of pain into the shell of his ears.

“What’s your favorite thing in this room?” Ottavio was asking, “I’m a bit curious.”

Forty-four grabbed onto the lifeline and used it to drag himself away from the feeling of scalpels splitting his skin apart just for the pleasure of seeing him bleed. “The windows,” he heard himself say, eyes instinctively going to look outside. The sky was a soothing balm, the numb detachment flickering a bit in the face of it.

“Why’s that?”

Ryo took a moment to consider his words, hesitation dragging at his throat, but talking was better than silence. Silence felt like days spent with childish fingers pressed against his throat just to feel the vibrations while he spoke himself hoarse. “It means,” he coughed a bit, “I means I can go anywhere.”

Ottavio grinned a bit and Ryo felt hopelessly, foolishly safe. “I like that,” he hummed. “Mine is the bookshelf. Reading is a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine!”

“That’s kind of nerdy.” Ryo couldn’t stop the words before he spoke them, leaving him wide eyed and tense. Ottavio paused for a moment and Ryo braced for the reprimand, the stick, the removal of the carrot. 

The man laughed instead, loud and airy. It sounded like the wind, boldly brushing away the unbearable heat on a hot summer’s day. 

“You’re right! It kind of is, isn’t it,” he chuckled, “My daughter used to tell me the same thing.”

This man…was a total enigma. Ryo really couldn’t read him at all.

Well, it wasn’t like that was a bad thing.

(Surely, he’d be forgiven for the affection that was beginning to warm his heart.)

Breakfast was loud. Several men and women were at the table, arguing good-naturedly and laughing loud enough that they could be heard clearly down the hall. They looked like a rough group, dressed up in formal, funeral black. Most of them were scarred heavily, but they all seemed comfortable showing it. Valeria was slouched over in her own chair, gesturing wildly with her fork as she tried to explain something to the young woman next to her.

The man sitting at the head of the table was tall, lean muscle obvious even beneath his suit. He was handsome enough, dark brown hair complimenting the sharp, hazel eyes that watched the members of the table with something resembling content.

“Tyr,” Ottavio greeted, his voice easily heard even through the noise. Ryo froze when the man’s gaze landed on him, the strength of the man clear despite his lazy posture, cheek resting on one hand and legs crossed.

_Ah_, he realized. _I had forgotten what a predator felt like._

“Ottavio,” the man replied, keeping his half-lidded gaze firmly rooted on Ryo, “I see you’ve returned with a tag-along. Any particular reason?”

Ottavio placed a stabilizing hand on Ryo’s shoulder, warmth sinking in there and providing a bit of relief from Tyr’s overwhelming presence. The other people present had fallen quiet, watching the interaction with narrow, curious eyes. Valeria smiled at Ryo when he made eye-contact, sending him a tiny wave and scowling when the woman next to her elbowed her in the side.

“Of course, boss,” Ottavio smiled idly in return, “I’m rather certain this boy is in possession of a Hell Ring.”

Tyr’s gaze fell to Ryo’s left hand where it was tangled in Ottavio’s coat. He zeroed in on the ring there, a single eyebrow cocking. “How interesting,” he hummed, “I suppose you’re more convinced than ever in that particular fairy tale?”

“One-hundred per cent!” Ottavio chirped, sharp knives flashing boldly, disguised poorly by his soft words. “Valeria will hopefully be able to confirm its authenticity today.”

Try sighed heavily, reaching up to massage his temple. “Honestly,” he groaned in exasperation, “You’re an utter fool for pursuing this.”

“Foolish to you, perhaps,” Ottavio hummed, “But rings are the ladder which will be used to climb beyond our current understanding of Flames. I’m convinced of it, Tyr.”

Tyr cracked his eyes open once more, gaze falling back upon the ring before flicking up to make eye contact with Ryo. “What’s your name, boy?” he asked, hazel burning into metallic grey.

Ryo squeezed his hand tighter into Ottavio’s coat, lifting his chin a touch and blinking away the smearing colors and flashing indigo that tried to convince him that the man in front of him was someone else. The ring hummed around his finger, uncertain and cautious.

“Ryo,” he stated, the name coming easier to his mouth. The maggots burrowing through his flesh were still, hesitating in their movements as indigo heat started to circulate. “I’m Ryo.”

Tyr smiled, slow and amused. Maybe he could see the parasites infecting Ryo’s tongue just as clearly as Ryo could see the monster lurking at the back of the man’s throat, intelligent gaze keenly watching and waiting for the perfect moment to seize the kill. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Ryo,” Tyr sat up straighter, eyes brightening until they looked like molten gold. “I guess this is when I say welcome to the Varia.”

For a moment, it felt like chains rattling into place and shackles locking around his limbs. 

Ottavio’s hand was still warm. Valeria was still smiling encouragingly at him. He was clean and there were windows everywhere. The people seated at the table were just as infected with the world’s hatred.

It didn’t feel like a prison, it felt like release.

Ryo nodded, unsure of exactly what he was getting into, but he couldn’t be too worried when the man standing next to him felt like wordless acceptance and something resembling home.

It wasn’t warm straw or spicy tofu. It wasn’t even motor oil or expensive cologne.

(Maybe they would forgive him for being okay with that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh im....so sorry about how long this took
> 
> hopefully this makes up for it? the tags have been updated :))
> 
> ryo: *falls asleep*  
ottavio: ohgodohfuckohgodohfuck *frantically tearing through his bookshelves to find a book about healing trauma*


	10. tantalus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tantalus: a phrygian king who was condemned to remain in tartarus, chin deep in water, with fruit-laden branches hanging above his head. whenever he tried to drink or eat, the water and fruit receded out of reach.
> 
> everyone say "thank you rathalos" for making this chapter legible

“Well, it certainly _looks_ like one.”

Valeria was frowning, alternating between squinting at the book splayed open across her desk and the ring adorning Ryo’s thumb. He couldn’t really see what she was so absorbed in. Aside from the occasional flash of color and squiggles that looked like total gibberish, Ryo was pretty lost. The pages were torn and stained, which he could only assume made interpreting all the more difficult.

Ottavio was sitting next to Ryo, tilted forward and studying the pages, eyes gleaming with childish excitement. They had ended up in Valeria’s office after eating in order for the two of them to get a better look at his ring. It was a cozy space—bookshelves climbing up the walls to strain towards the lofty ceilings. Display cases lined the walls, antique jewelry and aged, assorted knick-knacks lovingly placed upon velvet cushions simply for the pleasure of being observed.

It was easy enough to stare out the window while Ottavio and Valeria discussed something-or-other with hushed, feather-light voices and heads bent together. Ryo took a moment to drag his gaze over the ring once more, absent-mindedly trying to figure out what was so exciting about it. It looked like any other trashy piece of jewelry, if one discounted its exceptional ugliness.

Maybe the two of them were searching for the world’s most hideous rings? They seemed to have lucked out if that was the case. Ryo wasn’t sure what could top the _thing_ that was marring his finger.

Ottavio was talking to him, asking a question. The sound of it was wobbly and warped, indistinguishable from the white nose ringing in his ears.

“_You want to leave, right?_”

He wanted to go. He wanted to run, to flee, to escape. He wanted to sprint forward, never ceasing, until thoughts of men and women in white coats who liked to cut children open simply for the pleasure of the experience were nothing but a distant memory, something that he could look back upon and chuckle at and say “_What an awful nightmare!_” as he filled his mind with things like a city’s back allies and the taste of cool gelato melting over his tongue to disguise the bitterness that was living there.

“Ryo,” Ottavio interrupted, placing a hand on his shoulder, searing like a brand into the skin there. It was enough to startle him into awareness, thoughts snapping to the present like a rubber band being released with a sharp _thwang_. “Are you alright?”

Wasn’t that the question? Aah. He wanted to laugh. Ryo made sure to press his lips together, forbidding that awful sound from stepping into the light of day and exposing the rot that had already eaten away all of the good inside of him. If Ottavio saw—if he _knew_—surely, surely that gentle smile would morph into disgust. That comforting hand would turn into a striking fist, driving him back and away, all while mockingly reminding Ryo with that warm, kind voice that bugs were supposed to stick to the shadows, eating trash and hiding away from the public eye. Didn’t he know?

How absolutely presumptuous of him to sit here in this office, accepting things like kind words and daring to utter the word _no_ as if his opinion had any bearing on what happened to him. If something like consent was owed to humans, then didn’t that make him the furthest thing away from that?

(Because if that was true, then why why why did he spend all of that time restrained and held and hated and hurt until everything even resembling humanity had been scooped out of him alongside Aina’s spleen and twisted into something more befitting of a beast?)

Resolving to keep that revolting, parasite-ridden part of him hidden away, Ryo lowered his eyes from Ottavio’s investigative gaze and nodded, short and shallow. Even if it was wrong of him to deceive, Ryo wanted to stay here for as long as he could. He wanted to be able to sleep in warm beds that smelled like fresh air and old books, listening to soft voices and feeling the touch of a hand that wasn’t there to oppress him. Besides, rules like ‘lying is bad’ only applied to people who were allowed to be people.

“I’m glad,” Ottavio smiled, like Ryo wasn’t living scum, as though he deserved having an expression so gentle and affectionate sent his way. A lump was sitting in Ryo’s throat, wide and heavy and painfully similar to the discomfort right before tears. He could barely swallow around it, tongue thick and reminding him of his sins in hushed whispers.

“I’m pretty curious, though. Even if this isn’t a Hell Ring, it’s definitely capable of channeling flames. Where’d you stumble across something like that?” Valeria was resting her chin in her hands, half-lidded gaze studying Ryo with all the curiosity of a snake eyeing the toad that had hopped too close to its nest.

Where?

_A cashier with a mischievous glint in his eyes grinned playfully at him from the corner, waving absently as he tossed a snow globe up and caught a book as it fell back down._

“A store,” Ryo shrugged, blinking away the sight of purple hair and silver piercings.

_The grey-haired man smiled at him from underneath the desk, glasses blocking out sight of his eyes and mouth far too large for his face._

“A store,” Valeria repeated, tone a little disbelieving, “You expect me to believe that a Hell Ring has just been sitting in a store all along? You’re yanking my leg, right?”

Ryo couldn’t help the weird look he shot her. Where else did people buy things? “No?”

Ottavio and Valeria looked at each other meaningfully—Ryo didn’t care enough to interpret—and seemed to come to a conclusion. The tall woman shut the book gently, careful to avoid folding any pages, before leaning back in her chair with a huff.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter _where_ it was in the end so long as it was the only one there. Did you notice any others? A ring with an eye, or maybe a ‘666’ inscribed?”

The more Ryo tried to think about that day, the fuzzier the memory got. He shook his head, pulling his left hand towards himself to hide in his hoodie’s pocket. Ryo studied the grain of the desk in front of him, unable to shake the defensiveness that was sending his shoulders creeping up to meet his ears.

“Focus on the bright side, Valeria,” Ottavia suggested, quick to wipe the woman’s frown away. “We’ve basically got confirmation that we aren’t chasing a ghost story! That’s enough for now, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Valeria was staring at Ryo, a consternated twist to her lips. “But still…what a terrifying concept. A Hell Ring in the hands of a child,” she paused to bark out a harsh laugh, “I’m not sure any parent wants to even imagine it.”

“True enough,” Ottavio hummed. It was a sad sound. “Even so, there’s little we ourselves can do to alter the situation. Our only option is to make do with observation and continue on.”

Ryo wondered if they knew that he could hear and understand them.

A Hell Ring, huh?

Ryo stowed the horn under the protective cover of his pocket, lips imperceptibly quirking down at the happy vibrations that greeted him. Against his will, a question bubbled up in his throat—whatisitwhatareyouwhywhywhywhy—but it didn’t even make it past the lump that had nestled itself in place. Well, perhaps he was better off not knowing.

____ 

Ottavio seemed to begin to quiet down as soon as the sun touched the horizon, tongue falling still once golden light began to reach upup_up_ as far as it could strain, trailing yellow-tipped fingers across walls and trees and begging to be allowed to stay for even just a minute longer. As the moon ascended, Ottavio retreated into his mind, further and further still, quiet as the dead in his thoughtfulness.

Ryo didn’t think anyone could blame him for staring, wide-eyed, as milky light kissed Ottavio’s fair hair and lit it up—dully, secretly, wistfully. Maybe it was searching for its golden lover, desperately seeking everything the light had touched just moments ago, heart aching like a broken rib.

“You must hate me,” Ottavio finally murmured, staring out the window at the carefully, tediously unkempt gardens as the rose bushes violently thrashed in the wind, petals scattering as quickly as a thief hearing righteous sirens wail towards the crime scene.

Ryo considered.

A pale hand curled over Ottavio’s shoulder, red sleeves gently falling to cover the strong digits. When Ryo tried to follow the arm up to view the owner’s face, all he could see was an endless stretch of flowing fabric.

“What for?” he rasped, shutting his eyes against the dizzying kaleidoscope of purple, yellow, red twirling their way through the wind and pounding against his eyelids.

Ottavio smiled as him, absentmindedly knocking the hand away from its thoughtless caressing. “Well, I’ve certainly brought you to a strange place. Even I’m not foolish—no, arrogant—enough to pretend as though I wasn’t sure what my intentions for bringing you here were. I’m a terribly selfish and cruel man.”

Ryo wasn’t sure how to express in spoken words that it was alright. He’d be taken before and brought to what he could only think of as hell on earth. Ottavio wasn’t anywhere close to the Doctor in terms of ‘people he hated’.

His traitorous tongue sat still in his mouth, unwilling to spin together an unbelievable story of the depths of human cruelty. In comparison to the ghosts clinging to his heels, the dark halls and curious eyes of the Varia were almost pitifully kind.

(Ryo thought that he could laugh in the face of anything now.)

“Don’t worry about it,” was what he said instead, leaning his head back so it thumped against the wall, “There’s nothing waiting for me now.”

“I guess that makes two of us.”

____

The training hall Ryo was brought to was probably the largest room he’d seen throughout the duration of his life. High, vaulted ceilings showered watered, tinted light on the five or so young boys and girls occupying the hall through the expansive stained glass that stretched nearly wall-to-wall.

The room was nearly empty of furnishings outside of the weapon racks lining the eastern side. A singular chair—or throne, rather—had been placed against the middle of the northern wall. Tyr was longing in it, legs gracefully splayed and chin supported by a lazy hand, elbow propped up on the armrest. Cold, analytical eyes were seemingly focused on the children running through their drills, but Ryo could feel the moment the man’s gaze snapped onto him with all the precision of a professional sniper lovingly lining their target up in the crosshairs.

“Ottavio, Ryo,” Tyr welcomed. His smile was a harsh thing, canines delicately poking through the sharp lines pasted across his face.

“Boss,” Ottavio replied, bobbing his head once with an acknowledging nod, “Thanks for this.”

One of the boys was watching the interaction, movements slowing, but not ceasing, as a sharp gleam lit up his eyes. Ryo stared back, admittedly more intrigued by the boy’s seemingly natural white hair than the boring adult conversation being conducted over him.

He was practicing with a sword, jabbing and twisting against an invisible opponent with all the aggression of someone fighting for their life. Something about the boy’s intense movements sent a distantly familiar emotion racing up his spine to claw its way through his mouth, taking up reluctant residence in his teeth. 

Aah. His gums ached.

Ryo couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling that was making his toes curl and fingers clench, anticipation rolling its way through his gut to make room for the dangerous thing that was dozing there. Maybe it was the shift in his posture, or the way his jaw clenched, possibly even the slight curl of his lip—Ryo wasn’t sure exactly what signal he had sent out, but it was enough to cause a wild grin to slash its way across the boy’s face, morphing sharp curiosity into violent hope.

The moment was broken when Ottavio’s warm hand parted from Ryo’s shoulder, pulling away as the man turned to walk out. Ryo took a few steps to follow, as hopeless as a dog on a leash, or a kite on a string. Tyr reached out to grab the back of Ryo’s hood, pulling him to a stand-still and looking vaguely apologetic about it.

“Do you have any experience with fighting?” Tyr asked, presumably to distract him while tugging Ryo towards him. Ryo easily went, but couldn’t peel his gaze away from Ottavio’s back as it disappeared through an archway.

The question brought to mind sunny days in a city that smelled like saltwater, quiet meditation with a man clothed in red, and years and years spent being observed through an opaque window while he and Aina clawed and thrashed their way through the motions, desperation ripping its way through them as they fought for the chance to live another day.

“Dunno,” he responded, refusing to make eye contact with the man.

Tyr smiled—if it could even be called that. He looked like somehow who had learned how to do so from a book. A single hand raised and all of the kids ceased in their movements, obediently turning to face him in unison. Which—ew—was pretty creepy.

“Everyone, I’d like you to all meet Ryo,” Tyr casually gestured towards Ryo, letting go of his hood and slouching back into his chair, “He’ll be joining us from now on. I hope you can all play nice and treat him well.”

The kids—five for sure, now that he could count them—seemed a bit unsure, brows furrowed and lips pursed. From what he could tell, none of them could control their expressions yet. It was kind of cute. He almost snarled at him, teeth bared, just to see what they would do. Surely at least one would flinch.

The white-haired boy was staring at Ryo again, eyes intense and sparking with _something_—and this was dangerous. Ryo didn’t like the sudden clarity that had begun to weave through the world at the boy’s challenging grin. Ryo’s cheek twitched and he forced the sneer down, wondering where the ever-present blur of numb apathy had disappeared off to.

“Nice to meet you,” one of the boys finally greeted, a pleasant smile firmly affixed, “I go by Vin, age fourteen.”

His sacrifice seemed to embolden the others and ease the uncomfortable air that always accompanied first-time introductions.

“Cihan, twelve,” another boy muttered, a mulish twist to his lips.

“Elaine! I’m nine years old and I look forward to training with you!”

“My name’s Simone. I’ll be turning thirteen next week.”

The only one left was the white-haired boy, whose eye’s hadn’t left Ryo once. “The name’s Superbi Squalo,” he declared, as arrogant as a king with his sword clutched tightly in hand, “Let’s fight!”

The challenge rang like a gong through Ryo’s head, refusing to allow him to ignore it. His head perked up a tad, eyes sharpening in consideration. He’d feel more threatened if it wasn’t for the blunt honestly shining through the boy’s every action, practically screaming his genuine intentions for the world to hear. It was kind of…admirable.

Vin groaned, running a hand down his face in a well-practiced action. Clearly, exasperation wasn’t far and clung to the boy like a wet shirt.

“Now, now,” Tyr chuckled, “We don’t want to scare him off, hm? Ottavio’s rather taken with him and I’m afraid Miss Valeria would kill you if you chased away the ring she’s studying. Consoling the two of them would be an utter nightmare and I would take it out on you.”

The gentle reprimand didn’t seem to subdue the kid; if anything he looked encouraged. “Do you think they’d fight me too?” was what exited his mouth instead of an apology.

It had been awhile since Ryo had seen one of those types—fighting-obsessed, that is. Violence curled through the boy’s fingers with an ease that spoke of time-worn familiarity, singing its way through every word, gesture, and expression. It was refreshing, in a way. 

Something in him was stirring in response.

(Ah. Hadn’t he been like that, once?)

“Maybe once you can hold your own against an Officer for more than five seconds,” Tyr laughed, belly-deep and utterly fond. “And then you can challenge me and take my title.”

Squalo grinned and, somehow, that bloodlust was innocent, blunted by the wide-eyed excitement that only children possessed, sheltered from the realities of life by loving guardians. It was almost enough to make Ryo jealous. 

The kids welcomed Ryo into their training—maybe not with open arms, but perhaps with small smiles and considering looks that spoke of a potential for friendliness.

“Do you have any preferences?” Vin asked, leaned up against the wall while he watched Ryo stare blankly at the racks of weapons.

Ryo quietly raked his eyes over the live blades and assortment of items that he wouldn’t have ever considered a viable weapon—was that a spoon?—and paused on a switchblade. The handle was wooden and clearly old, stain rubbed away by hands other than his in a way that suggested heavy use.

“Hm? A knife?” Vin asked, evidently not bothered by Ryo’s lack of input. He looked Ryo over with keen eyes, brows furrowed a touch, “Well, I guess that’s alright. Not what I was expecting—you look pretty delicate.”

Was he being insulted? Something about his expression must’ve let across his offended confusion, because the other boy laughed, head thrown back.

“Don’t think too hard,” Vin said kindly. “I wouldn’t want you to strain your brain. We certainly don’t need to destroy any more brain cells, there’s already a pretty significant deficit.”

“Stop bullying the new kid,” the one who had introduced themself as Simone shouted across the room. “And the only one missing brain cells is you!”

“Hey!” Squalo yelled, pausing in his movements. “Say it again, I dare you!”

“My god, Squalo. I’m talking about Vincent.”

“Oh,” he considered. “Well, that’s okay, I guess.”

“Where’s the loyalty!?” Vin cried out. “I take care of you all and _this_ is how I’m repaid? With mutiny and disrespectful juniors?”

Watching them dissolve into an argument, Ryo couldn’t hold back the tiny smile that had seized control of his mouth. He was right—they were all pretty cute.

It was easy enough to fall into a mindless cycle of motions once Vin gave them to him, knife hanging loosely from his left hand. It sat awkwardly there, as if to let him know _this isn’t right, you know?_

Well.

It wasn’t like he could do anything about it.

(His hand throbbed.)

(He ignored it.)

(Just one more thing that was stolen from him.)

“Hey, you’re pretty stiff,” Squalo observed, leaning forward out of nowhere onto the hilt of his sword and ignoring the hideous screeching of the tip of his blade wobbling against the slab flooring. “Wanna spar? It might help you loosen up.”

Ryo paused the constant movement of _stab, dodge, slice_ that he was dutifully repeating, mimicking the shadows living in his memories. None of the other trainees said anything and Tyr was silent this time, so he figured it was something he was supposed to do. Sussing out the competition and all. 

The moment he hummed in agreement, Squalo was shooting forward with all the devoted bloodlust of a hunting dog with its nose to the trail, sword flashing forward and catching the sunlight as it went. Ryo ducked before he fully processed the motions, catching himself with his left palm and throwing himself to the side, struggling to yank his right hand from its protective confines.

Squalo spun to follow after him the moment his toes touched the ground, graceful moments forcing Ryo to remember exactly what ‘someone strong’ looked like. For all of his youth, the white-haired boy had ridiculous control over his body, ripping through the motions with well-practiced ease.

(But…wasn’t that supposed to be him as well?)

A single strike against Ryo’s knife was all it took for it to be knocked away, left hand wholly unused to anything resembling clutching a knife in a fight and rapidly going numb from the vibrations that had hummed there, even though it had just been a moment. It didn’t worry him too much—for years, he’d only been allowed to use his body to fight against much greater odds. Squalo’s vicious grin spoke of someone who lived for the thrill of the fight.

Ryo skipped back a few steps at the wide swing Squalo leveled at his chest, blinking at the whisper of a blunted edge against the fabric of his hoodie. His cheeks ached. They felt awfully strained. He didn’t dwell on it too long, but the distraction was enough for Squalo to spin with the momentum of his sword, leg sweeping up and catching Ryo in the neck. He went down _hard_, head knocking against the slate and exploding into stars and screeching light.

Aah.

Wasn’t the gap between them too far?

They were going to lose if he didn’t get his act together.

Someone was shouting something as he blinked the blurry colors out of his eyes and rolled away, barely missing the foot slamming into the pavement where his head had just been. His opponent wasn’t holding back, as expected. No one liked the punishment that accompanied losing.

It was odd—he couldn’t hear Aina?

Rolling to his feet, Forty-four dove forward with a snarl, ever-present bloodlust tearing its way through him with all the intensity of a ravenous stray who’d finally caught a rat. He still couldn’t focus his vision, but the boy’s white hair was a beacon crying out _I’m here! I’m here!_

(Something vital was missing.)

His approach caught the kid off-guard and muscle memory was enough to have his teeth sinking into the arm that had been thrown up to shove him away. What a pity. He’d been aiming for the throat (_“Fon!” a man with purple hair yelped, eyes wide in genuine fear._). The boy _howled_, sword clattering to the ground as his other hand released it to try and scratch at Forty-four’s eyes.

What was it that Doctor Clemente had told him with a cold smile?

(“Fight as though you’re about to die.”)

The purple flames weren’t answering his demands, instead curling up tighter and stubbornly digging in their heels, parts of them breaking off like gecko tails even as he tried to forcibly drag them to the surface. Something indigo and foreign was lapping at his fingertips instead, begging for the opportunity to be acknowledged. They stunk of terror and greed.

A man’s hand caught the incoming attack before the nails did much more than scrape his eyelid, yanking the boy away and lifting Forty-four by the collar (_“Bad puppy,” a man in a fedora laughingly scolded, ignoring the way he was choking_).

“Honestly,” the man sighed. His tone was irritated, but Forty-four was an old hand at spotting the secret pleasure wrapped up and hidden behind cruel grins and gentle lies. “Just like children.”

The other boy was panting, grin too wide for the mouth and eyes filled with violent joy. Forty-four snarled back, gnashing his teeth to ensure the kid could see the blood lingering there. The boy just threw his head back and _laughed_, hanging from the arm the man was holding him up by.

“You’re pretty shit at fighting,” he cackled, “but I can admire someone who goes at it with everything they’ve got!”

“Jesus Christ,” a tall boy was muttering, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course we’re blessed with yet another total psycho.”

“Calm down, Ryo,” the man was murmuring.

Hah? Who was this stranger to give him a command? How dare some no-name rabble try to tell him what to do? The only person he respected enough to obey was—

“It’s only been an hour,” a male voice sighed. “Boss, you’re really the worst at watching kids.”

“Hey!” the man holding Ryo up scoffed—what was his name? …Tire? “I _did_ stop them. Eventually.”

Ottavio was smiling at Ryo, eyes drawn down to his ring with idle curiosity. Ryo followed his gaze, breathing heavily through the taste of copper in his mouth and shoving the shivering ache to continue fighting down, underneath layers upon layers of apathy. The horn had straightened up and was visibly twitching back and forth, seeking _something_ out.

“Did you have fun, Ryo?” Ottavio asked instead of pointing it out further, crouching down once Tyr had released his collar.

Ryo glanced over to where Squalo was arguing with the youngest girl, bloody arm held up in the air to keep her from grabbing at it. He’d already forgotten her name, but part of him was aching over the absence of blonde hair and lavender eyes.

Squalo caught his gaze and bared his teeth. What a child! Ryo snapped his own back, feeling more settled in his skin than he had in...well, a long time. His head was clear, despite the throbbing pain in his skull and the dull ache radiating from where Squalo had kicked the shit out of his neck.

“Mm,” he agreed, bobbing up onto the tips of his toes and tapping his fingers along his thighs to release the nervous energy building up.

“I’m glad, although I wish you preferred other means. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a mist that liked to fight so close up.”

Again with the weather? It was as though the entire world spoke in riddles! A quiet thought was drifting to the forefront of his mind, shaking off dust as it went and purring with all the fondness of a long-lost friend. _ESP_?

Ryo settled for shrugging, still off-balance and slightly confused, lost in the way his surroundings continued to blur and shift through a variety of scenes that felt as though they should mean something to him.

“Well, I was here to bring you to a check up, although I suppose you’ll be receiving treatment, as well,” Ottavio laughed, absent-mindedly stroking through Ryo’s hair. Ryo followed when the man led him away, returning the cheerful waves a few of the trainees sent his way.

“What about him?” Ryo couldn’t help but ask as they went, eyes flickering to the blood steadily dripping onto the floor as Squalo continued to twirl through the motions of his swordplay, uncaring of his wounds. Was he reenacting the fight they’d just had?

“Varia trainees are expected to continue on despite injury,” Ottavio answered with a knowing smile, “and Superbi in particular carries a certain streak of tenacity, wholly unlike his peers. I don’t think even losing a limb would phase him for very long! He’s pretty talented, though, so I expect he’ll figure out some unique applications of his flames soon. That kid’s going to be near unstoppable one day.”

Maybe Ryo should have been jealous, but the only thing burning in his chest was curiosity. Well, and his lungs.

______

He wasn’t sure how he failed to make the connection between ‘receiving treatment’ and ‘doctor’s office’, but all it took was half a lungful of sterile air and the gentle _swish_ of a white coat in the corner of his eyes to send him falling, falling, falling into the back of his mind.

Betrayal stung, doubly so when it was preceded by the beginnings of trust.

Ottavio didn’t seem to notice the walls that had slammed up around Forty-four, but they weren’t enough to block out the gut-wrenching ache that came with seeing white floors on white walls on white ceilings populated by white coats. The man in front of him looked nothing like the Doctor, but the similarity in their expressions was enough to make Forty-four clammy.

He wanted to throw up, but feared the punishment that came with making a mess. Aah. He’d lost the fight as well. Treatment must have been the excuse to lure him here for correction. Ottavio was the willing carrot, happy to lead him to the stick.

The doctor—not the Doctor, his face wasn’t nearly as gaunt—smiled at Forty-four, mouth flapping open and closed in silent questioning. He forced himself to listen. Failing to answer made them mad and the researchers being frustrated never ended well.

(It ended with jaws wired shut and little girls missing their tongues.)

“What brings you here today, bud?”

Forty-four couldn’t do anything but stare, vaguely embarrassed over the way his hands were shaking. He was pretty out of practice already, despite it being only a short period of time that he’d been allowed to masquerade as someone who had the right to be free. 

In a way, the terror was comforting in its familiarity. The Doctor had been right—the world outside the lab was, in many ways, worse than life underneath the threat of a scalpel. The people outside were hopelessly confusing, spewing concepts like ‘consent’ and giving something like him food which was suitable for an ordinary human, all while smiling kindly his way.

Forty-four could understand the confusion lingering in the corners of Ottavio’s eyes. He had lied to them, purposefully disgusting the rot living inside of him to distract them from the parasites that had been planted there by gloved hands. It was wrong to deceive, but even for just a short period of time…it had been nice to pretend to be normal.

The researcher was cruel for asking that question. There wasn’t an objectively right or wrong answer, so the researcher’s reaction could swing either way depending solely on his mood. Forty-four clawed through his memory, desperately searching for a response that wouldn’t end in more pain than he deserved. 

“I did wrong,” he finally admitted, unable to stop his left hand from tangling into the fabric of his shorts. Admitting fault seemed to appease some of them, and he didn’t know this man well enough to be able to predict his response. Ottavio was frowning again, eyebrows reaching towards each other as though he didn’t expect this outcome when bringing Forty-four back to the lab.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it wrong!” the researcher chuckled, “Ottavio told me about it. Fighting with Squalo is rather expected…that kid challenges practically everyone who makes eye contact with him. I’m waiting for the day Vongola Eighth herself gets jumped by the little brat!”

This wasn’t in the script.

Forty-four stared at his lap.

“Do you mind if the doctor takes a look at your injuries?” Ottavio finally interjected, voice once again purposefully soft and level. “Remember, you can say no by blinking twice at any time.”

He wanted to vomit at the way Ottavio’s gentle voice sounded pronouncing ‘doctor’. As if he could say no to the man. The illusion of choice fell apart when there was no merit behind the options. Forty-four frantically glanced around the room, trying to locate where the Doctor was hiding, listening to the conversation with that horrible, twisted imitation of a smile.

Fingers coated in latex brushed against his neck and something slimy _sparked_. That was all it took for Forty-four to take in a shuddering breath and retreat from the moment.

____

Life was easier when awareness was optional. His head, for all of the nightmares that lived there, was safer than the world ‘out there’.

He wasn’t sure when he’d drawn the line between ‘here’ and ‘there’, but he was eternally grateful for it. Vaguely, he could hear voices and see the blur of people standing over him, but it didn’t matter when all he had to do was lean harder into his thoughts—or lack thereof—and watch as even the most indistinguishable of sensory inputs twisted away into…well, anything else.

A woman was humming while she combed through his hair with her fingers, arms more comforting than anything he’d experienced. He choked on the tears that surfaced and, embarrassed, ignored the wet feeling on his cheeks. Standing across the room from them was a man, running through a series of movements with all of the intensity of a tiger darting in for the kill.

Something about the room they were in felt comforting, but he could see the shadow lurking by the window, peering in with distant intrigue.

“Such a foolish boy I’ve raised,” the woman hummed, and the tone of her voice was enough to make him cry harder, “I thought I taught you better than this. Have you learned no independence at all?”

“Do go easy on him, [- - -],” the man laughed in response, pausing his practice to flick his long braid back from where it had fallen over his shoulders. “He’s still young.”

“It’s no excuse for this level of reliance,” she muttered, but something about her softened at the man’s words. Slender, strong hands turned him enough to where he could try and peer up at her face, but no matter how much he squinted, the sunlight blocked it out. “My son,” she whispered, and even he could hear the smile in her words.

His chest ached.

“You hog my _Wàishēng_ so often!” the man complained fondly, settling down cross-legged next to the woman with an old man’s groan. “Let him see his poor _Jiùjiu_ who dearly misses him!”

“_Gēgē_!” the woman tutted, as though she was scolding a naughty dog. “Is a mother not allowed to hold her son for more than a moment? You’re shameless!”

“Oh, [- - -], you’re far too stern. Let me see him!”

“Did you not hold him an hour ago? He’s far too old to be coddled. No wonder things are this way.”

“How cruel of you to deny me the gift of viewing my _Wàishēng’s_ face! It’s been far too long. Let your _Gēgē_ see, please?”

The woman huffed, but it was good-natured and heartbreakingly fond. The man pulled him into his lap, hands painfully gentle, as though he was handling fine china. “Aah,” the man sighed, and it sounded like a funeral song. “What a pitiful man I am, hm? You’ve grown well, Ryo.”

It was the first time his name had been spoken to him with any certainty, with any genuine, deep-seated fondness that stemmed from intimacy of truly knowing someone. Ryo stared up at his uncle’s face, heart dropping even as he

_remembered_.

“_Jiùjiu_,” Ryo choked out, hands going up to feel along the man’s jaw with all the desperation of a blind man seeing for the first time. His uncle’s face twisted into a fond expression, larger palm caressing Ryo’s cheek.

“You look just like her,” he murmured, eyes soft. “What a nostalgic face. Although, I don’t think I ever saw Fengmian look anything but composed.”

“I forgot,” Ryo couldn’t help but confess. “How could I have forgotten?”

The woman—no, his _mother_—was still sitting next to them, face relaxed and free of the grief that had haunted her in her final days. Terrible guilt slammed down on Ryo’s shoulders. He didn’t flinch; it was just another failure in a sea of inexcusable offenses. Forgetting his family certainly wasn’t the least among them, but nothing compared to the sting of sitting by and watching them die off like flies while he continued to live.

“What did you forget, _Wàishēng_?” Fengyong chuckled, pleasant smile hopelessly indulgent.

“Everything,” he admitted, leaning in to rest his forehead on his uncle’s collarbone—willingly, for once. “_Jiùjiu_, I feel so lost. It hurts to live.”

A familiar hand stroked Ryo’s back, pulling him in close enough to feel his uncle’s heartbeat thudding an ever-present beat into Ryo even as a searing touch burned into him. 

“_One cannot refuse to eat just because there is a chance of being choked_,” Fengyong murmured, quietly enough that it seemed as though he was speaking to himself. “Things will be alright one day. Us foolish humans must march towards the fate we’ve chosen for ourselves, willingly or not. Each man digs his own grave.”

“How morbid of you, _Gēgē_,” Hibiki purred. “You sound as you did at age fifteen, torn up and crying over Yi Mei’s rejection of your advances.”

“You treat your brother so harshly!” Fengyong playfully whined, predatory grin curling its way up his cheeks. “Aren’t you meant to respect your elders?”

“And yet I’m the one with a son,” she teased. “My foolish elder brother is falling behind.”

Something about her words twisted Fengyong’s expression into a bitter thing. “Surely my dear _Mèimei_ and _Wàishēng_ won’t be without me long,” he murmured, wistful.

Aah. Ryo was cruel to himself for dreaming this up.

“You shouldn’t be in any hurry,” Hibiki laughed, the sound of it elegant and fond. It was enough to make Ryo want to curl back up with her under the covers and pretend the past six years had been nothing but a miserable dream. “At the end of it all, I’ll still be here.”

“Fengmian,” he choked out, reaching out to pull her forward to lean into his chest. Ryo shoved his nose as best he could into her neck, inhaling in the heady scent of salt water, warm hay, and _home_. “I’m a fool. An utter fool.”

Ryo took in a deep breath and ignored the way it hitched, pushing his way to his feet and stepping back. He reached up with his right hand and tugged on the lavender scarf looped around his neck. Absence truly did make the heart grow fonder. Affection was the only name he could think of for the heady lightness fluttering in his chest, sparking at the sight of a life that could have been his.

“Mother, Uncle,” he stroked the horned ring, “I’m going to get rid of everyone who hurt the two of you. I’ll make sure you can rest peacefully.”

The metal shivered in response. This time Ryo shut his eyes and listened.

“_Are you satisfied? Are you pleased?_” it asked, broken up with childish giggles.

“Not yet,” Ryo whispered back.

“_I see! An eye for an eye!_”

“Of course,” Ryo murmured, and it felt like a promise.

“My,” Ryo heard his uncle hum to himself as he began to wake up, “What a strange dream.”

____

Ryo woke up with a swear on his tongue and indigo smearing through his vision. Ottavio jolted to his feet when Ryo’s eyes snapped open, stumbling over to the bed and tossing his book to the ground as he went. From this angle, Ryo could barely read the cover. Something about recovery?

His reading skills were rusty, not that they’d ever been great in the first place.

“How are you doing?!” Ottavio managed to spit out, words clumping together as though they’d been sitting in his mouth, cramped up and waiting for the chance to be spoken. Ryo hardly had the chance to blink before the man was pressing a hand to his forehead and pawing at his suit pockets with the other.

“I’m…fine?” he tried to state, but it came out like a question, preoccupied as he was with his thoughts.

“You…” Ottavio’s face twisted in guilt, “You didn’t have a good reaction to the doctor’s flames. I didn’t anticipate that; I’m sorry.”

Ryo suppressed the violent twitch at the mention of _doctor_, instead redirecting the energy towards reaching up to pull Ottavio’s hand away. “What do you mean?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Well,” Ottavio began. He tried to make the words light and airy, but Ryo could hear the caution lurking in the crescendo of his tone. “While Aled was examining your head injury, he went ahead and checked your mind. We aren’t quite sure what it was, but it appeared to be a blockage of some sort created with rain flames. It was already unraveling by the time we found it, but Aled went ahead and dismantled it himself as best he could. Your own flames had a slightly violent reaction.”

Ottavio tried to laugh it off, stiffly rubbing the back of his head, “Honestly, I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“Hey, Ottavio,” Ryo hummed—the man’s jolt made him realize it was probably the first time he’d called the man by name— “What are flames?”

Ottavio’s owlish look suggested that he had never entertained the thought that Ryo…had no earthly idea what he was talking about. “Ah,” he intelligently said, “Well, that is. Hm.”

“People keep mentioning these flames,” Ryo droned, voice flat as he pushed himself up to his elbows, “And then failing to provide any sort of explanation. It’s getting pretty old.”

Maybe it was presumptuous of him to speak like this, so obviously out of turn. A day ago, Ryo probably would have kept his lips pressed shut and allowed the unknown terms to pass him by unquestioned. Bringing a spotlight onto himself was undoubtedly terrifying, but what did it matter if these people shuddered away from the maggots that had colonized his body? His mother and uncle were the only people whose opinions could truly affect him.

“You,” Ottavio blinked in surprise, “Don’t know anything? You’re a civilian?”

“Does it matter, in the end?” Ryo muttered, twisting the ring on his thumb. “You would’ve brought me here, regardless.”

The smile that Ottavio gave him was full of resigned, bitter amusement. “I suppose that’s a fair assessment,” he sighed. “I can’t bring myself to regret it. A Hell Ring is more than enough for self-justification.”

“Explain that as well,” Ryo tried out, increasingly bold from the absence of correction.

“Of course, young lord,” Ottavio chuckled. Ryo tensed, anticipating at least a gentle admonishment, but was left waiting when Ottavio sat down on the mattress instead. “The Dying Will Flames of the Sky,” he began, and Ryo was reminded of a disgustingly similar speech by the Doctor, “is a phenomena that remains to be fully understood. I doubt total comprehension will be achieved in my lifetime, despite the breakneck speed scientists are reaching in their research. There exists seven types of flames, each one carrying with it a unique ability.

“Sky Flames are ordinarily seen in leaders. A great example of a Sky is Tyr. It appears as an orange flame and grants its user the ability of ‘Harmonization’. For this reason alone, other Flame Users desperately seek out this flame type in hopes of connecting enough to trigger that particular phenomenon. We’ve got no clue how to manually perform this as of now; it just seems to occur if the chemistry is good enough.

“Lightning Flames grant the user the power of ‘Hardening’. When being used, it manifests as green electricity. I guess you could think of Lightnings as a defensive wall—if you want to stereotype it. A Lightning with decent control makes for a fantastic bodyguard. If you need an example, Valeria can show you.

“Storm Flames show up red and have the ability of ‘Disintegration’. It doesn’t matter what it is: steel, wood, or flesh—Storms can burn through it all with enough precision. A lot of them have pretty foul tempers, but I’ve heard about a Storm who was famous for his renowned patience and unbreakable calm. They make for great frontal attackers, but some thrive in more…subtle roles.

“Rain Flame Users are hailed as unflappably calm, but personally most of the Rains I’ve met are…well, excuse my language. They’re all batshit. Squalo’s a great example; I don’t think I’ve seen that kid calm for more than three seconds in the time I’ve known him. Their flame appears light blue and vaguely resembles water. They grant their User the power of ‘Tranquility’, which is a fancy way of saying they slow things down.

“Sun Flames are yellow and, oddly enough, sparkle. A lot of Users are boxed up in the role of a doctor thanks to their ‘Activation’ ability. It’s a highly flexible flame, but quite a few of Sun Users are incredibly high-energy as a result. They make great hitmen and close-combat specialists; unfortunately, a lot of them get stuck at healing and never manage to go further.

“Sixth is Cloud Flames. They’re purple and a lot wispier than the other Flames. The stereotypes for this type are a lot more prevalent: flighty, fiercely independent, and incredibly territorial. As a User myself, I can unfortunately attest to the truth for a decent amount of it. I trained extensively in self-restraint to get to where I am today. Cloud Flames gift the ability of ‘Propagation’, which essentially just allows me to multiply things. I can demonstrate it later, if you’d like.

“Finally, Mist Flames, which is the type you possess. They’re a bit strange, even for flames. Mist Flames have the ability of ‘Construction’. For this, the sky's the limit. As long as you can think it, you can make it. Because of this, Mist Users are pretty susceptible to getting stuck in their own heads. Although technically anything is possible, complex constructions call for a much finer control over your Flames and a significant amount of power. Hell Rings are Mist-attributed and, until I met you, essentially considered a myth.”

Ryo’s head was spinning. In a weird way, it all made sense. He’d ignored the signs, closing his ears and shutting his eyes as thoroughly as he could, all in order to avoid confronting the knowledge that all of it—everything that had been done to him and Aina—was just some bored psycho’s science experiment, a lackadaisical attempt to understand a naturally-occurring phenomena that had no bearing on the majority of the world. Maybe if it had been for something worthwhile—curing a disease, altering the course of human history—Ryo could have accepted it with a bit more ease.

He had no one to blame but himself. Doctor Clemente had announced it at the very beginning: a Harmonization bullet created in order to settle some petty grudge that didn’t concern him and Aina until the two of them got forcibly dragged in.

“Keep going,” he rasped when he noticed Ottavio had stopped. The man quirked an eyebrow, but continued on.

“No one really understands rings. In essence, they’re a medium that can be used to channel flames and ease the way, so to speak, for gaining fine control over flames. Ordinarily, people can’t actually utilize their flames. It takes an obscene amount of training to even unlock them, which turns a lot of people away as a result. Rings and other mediums increase flame efficiency and make it so that even ordinary people can use their Flames without spending years of effort. There’s been some movement in the past few years to produce them so that most of the mafia has access, but the elites who could make that happen are pushing back. After all, they’ve got a pretty good monopoly and are content with the way things are. Widespread ring use would just lead to a huge upheaval of the current system.

“Hell Rings are a series of seven rings of various designs and names that are described as ‘contracts with the devil’. Each ring has a specific desire that the user must fulfill and, in return, are cursed with a strange ability. As far as we can tell, each ring produces a unique curse. In addition, the ring bearers are able to access an ability that supposedly increases their fighting potential significantly. From what we can tell, the ring you’ve got matches one of the illustrations in the records we’ve got access to. Of course, it’s one of the pages that’s missing essentially everything else,” Ottavio laughed bitterly, “What luck we seem to have. No name, no description, just a measly picture.”

A name.

A curse.

A power.

A contract.

Ryo stroked the horn, eyes half-lidded as he listened to the vibrations no one else seemed to notice.

“_Silly boy_,” it giggled. “_Foolish man!_”

“_Satisfy us! Are you satisfied?_”

Ryo cracked his eyes open, a narrow smile slashing across his face. It felt like daggers twisting in his flesh. A contract with the devil, huh?

(In comparison to getting rid of the people that had killed his family, it didn’t sound too bad.)

“I’m not satisfied,” he murmured in return. “Is that what you want?”

“_Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what you want? We’re hungry, hungry, hungry. Make us full!_”

“What a gluttonous ring you are. Do you have a name?”

“_A name! A name! We want it!”_

Ryo’s lids fluttered shut, ignoring Ottavio’s piercing gaze as the man observed. The sound of pen against paper nearly made Ryo vomit, but he bit down against it and drowned himself in memories.

It had been a long time (longer than he could truly comprehend), but if Ryo strained against the lingering blurriness of his mind, he could faintly recall the voice of his professor, quietly recanting an old tale.

_…The god of completion and fullness, Poros, grew drunk on nectar. Wholly unsuspecting, he wandered to the gardens of Zeus and fell into a deep sleep. Penia, goddess of poverty and incompletion, came up with a wicked plan as she passed by to resolve the issue of her own miserable life. She laid with him while he slept and conceived a child. _

_The babe was characterized by never-ending yearning, a continuous search for completion despite an incomplete nature. He was named Eros. Eros, the god who was stricken by constant poverty. Eros, the god with no home. Eros, the rough and wise and beautiful and mischievous, doomed to an existence endlessly pursuing satisfaction that would never come._

It was a fitting name, Ryo thought, if slightly sacrilegious of him to give a god’s name to something that was allegedly a devil.

“So demanding,” he murmured. “Does Eros suit you?”

“_Balance the scales, silly boy_,” it giggled. “_We accept! We accept! Satisfy us!_”

“I’ll satisfy myself,” Ryo huffed, eyes cracking open to look up at Ottavio. “You’re just along for the ride.”

“You continuously perplex me,” the man sighed. “I have…many questions, but they’ll have to wait until my migraine has left. Go ahead and get some sleep; there’s a lot planned for tomorrow already.”

“Like what?” Ryo questioned, flopping back on the pillows and allowing Ottavio to pull the covers up to his chin. It was a bit embarrassing being treated like a helpless child, but Ryo wouldn’t claim it didn’t make him at least a little bit pleased.

“Well,” Ottavio gave a teasing grin, “For starters, some new clothes.”

“Why?!” Ryo kind of hated his hoodie, but time had definitely made it grow on him. Maybe it was the pocket? The only bad thing about it was the design. Either way, the insinuation that his clothing choices were lacking in some way and needed to be remedied was insulting enough to make Ryo stubbornly defensive over the hideous thing. Sure, he looked absolutely idiotic, but his mother had taught him to stick by his choices!

(For once, the thought of her didn’t make his throat stick.)

“Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in a single hoodie?” Ottavio laughed.

“Of course,” Ryo mulishly declared.

“You’re as stubborn as a Cloud,” Ottavio grinned, and this time the affection wasn’t hidden. Ryo refused to acknowledge the fondness that welled up in response. “Well, we’re getting you sized for a uniform as well. Saint Agatha’s faculty is rather infamous for their strict upholding of the dress code.”

“Saint Agatha?”

“Saint Agatha’s Institute,” Ottavio explained, “It’s a Mafia-run school; all of the school-age Varia trainees get sent there and you’re expected to maintain the same curriculum. I enrolled you today.”

“You what.”

“I enrolled you in school?”

Any fondness Ryo might have been cultivating for the man was surely, truly, absolutely gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all this week has been SOMETHING...the fire alarms in my house keep going off at like 4am and waking me up. my pups are super unhappy and grumpy over it, but we can't figure out which one is malfunctioning. in addition my poor garden is being attacked by grasshoppers! i can't get rid of the nasty things; they keep laying eggs and eating my broccoli (●´^｀●)
> 
> the good news is that my squash is having the time of its life! the bees couldn't find the flowers for awhile, so I had to hand-pollinate it at first, but now there's lots of little baby squash and i see pollinators doing their job! i'm really excited to harvest some and eat!
> 
> hopefully this chapter provided some nice mental relief! next up, we have Uneducated Street Kid Trying To Blend In With Preps. 
> 
> (and also learning how to wear a tie)
> 
> i don't think there's going to be an update next week, so the tentative date for chapter 11 is on the 5th. 
> 
> that said, have a great day! (*￣▽￣)d
> 
> edit 8/12/20--I SWEAR PROGRESS IS BEING MADE. it's just...slow progress. 10 words at a time. hopefully next wednesday the update will be up, but no promises (life turned insane for a bit and writer's block hits hard). sorry for the delay! i love you all and haven't forgotten about this. stay safe everyone!
> 
> edit 8/28/20—well. i moved back to school and i can safely say it’s already a whirlwind of assignments! im still working on chapter 11, but i honestly have hardly had enough time to think before remembering another due date. hopefully this weekend i’ll be able to complete it! if not, it will absolutely be done by next weekend. thank you all so much for your kindness and patience—i love and miss you all! stay safe, folks~


	11. alexithymia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alexithymia: inability to identify and express or describe one’s feelings

There was an irrevocable truth that dictated existence, one that had been breathed into being at the genesis of life and had drifted along through the ages: some men had all the luck. Ivo Mancini was not one one of these men. This was emphatically clear to him by the horrid news his secretary had emailed him late last night.

A new student. One of _those_ new students. He shouldn’t be surprised. They were already so numerous and clearly multiplying at a rapid rate (_like rats_), but he was allowed to be upset! His poor school had degenerated so far and Ivo hadn’t noticed until it was far too late to reverse the momentum. The only consolation he had was the fat wallet and gold-lined pockets that were quick to soothe his worries and quiet any of his fussing. Ivo had even gotten a gorgeous foreign car out of the whole mess! Those violent thugs were, unfortunately, very _rich_ thugs.

Still, wealth alone wasn’t enough to halt his horror towards the rapid mafia take-over of his illustrious academy. His great-grandmother was likely rolling over in her grave at the news of criminals corrupting her life’s work, metamorphosing it into the place they send their children to be brought up into the brutish, illegal ways of their sires. 

Of course, the government was quick to turn a blind eye to the secrets hidden in plain sight at Saint Agatha’s Institute…so long as it was able to remain _the_ premier location to send children belonging to the upper echelon of society. It was Ivo’s responsibility to maintain that standard.

Ivo’s grandmother complained about it near endlessly; it had gotten to the point that he’d simply had her sent to a home (an upscale facility that catered only to people of their family’s standing, of course) to avoid her nagging. Money was enough to hush any of her louder concerns away.

“Headmaster,” the dreaded voice called out from behind his office’s heavy, oak door, heralded by a gentle knock that startled Ivo into knocking his knees into the bottom of his desk, “Your seven o’clock morning appointment has arrived.”

Oh, that wretched woman! She was probably outside his door laughing at his misfortune all the while, smiling serenely while quietly prying control out from beneath his white-clenched fingertips, proudly dragging it back to those Vongola dogs—the carcass of his academy, ready to be seized and hoarded away, cannibalized, the way Italy herself was being gnawed away at. He remembered the way Daniella Vongola had stared at him upon their first meeting decades ago, like a fruit ripe for picking, or a wolf keenly picking out its weakened meal, teeth bared and bloody.

The mafia claimed to be full of independent Families, but Ivo himself had watched as _that_ particular group had unflinchingly, brutally torn all dissenters to pieces, consolidating power under their _Donna_ and ripping out all loose threads until they proudly sat lord and ruler over all, propped up upon the corpses of enemies and allies alike. Everyone knew who the greater mafia answered to.

(It was only smart, Ivo rationalized, to give in so easily when they came knocking at his door and saddled him with a watch dog and named her his secretary. In the end, he became Headmaster and the Vongola walked away with a _Deal_.)

“A-Ah!” he choked, hands flying up to stroke at his mustache, rubbing at it anxiously, “Send them in, Aura.”

The door creaked upon a moment later. If nothing else, she was exceedingly efficient at her job. That, at least, Ivo could not complain about (and he certainly had tried). A long shadow stretched across the office, darkening glossy, hardwood floors and bringing a tense atmosphere to the previously stuffy room.

_That_ man. He was smiling genially, as usual. The sight of it sent shivers up Ivo’s spine, the bones in his left hand aching in violent reminder of what happened to those who dared to be disobedient. A young boy was tucked against the awful man’s side, gloomy and blank-faced. Part of Ivo reared back at the thought of such a man being near a child, but the boy’s empty eyes told him it was far too late for disagreement (as if he would ever voice an objection to _him_). Ottavio had already sunk his claws deep into him.

“Good morning, Headmaster.”

Even the man’s voice was enough to raise hairs. Many sleepless nights had Ivo no closer to figuring out how exactly such a soft-spoken man could be so capable of cruelty.

“Ottavio,” Ivo coughed, tugging absentmindedly at his tie, “Good morning to you as well. And who is this?”

The boy stared at Ivo when he was gestured at, eye bags deep and hair mussed, as though he hadn’t brushed it in several days. Despite that, the boy was pretty enough, features delicate and fragile in a way that Ivo had really only ever seen in women. He was dressed slouchily, a too-large hoodie hanging off his frame, lending anonymity to everything except the boy’s face—frankly, it was very unexpected of Ottavio’s ward. Ivo had never seen the man with so much as a hair out of place.

“This is Ryo,” Ottavio placed a hand on the boy’s back, the corners of his lips curling upwards slightly at the way the boy’s hand twisted tighter into his suit jacket, crumpling the fine material. It was horrific. Ivo wanted to hurl his paperweight at the man’s head. 

Never in his life had he wanted to see the man with anything resembling fondness in his expression. “I turned in his paperwork yesterday, but I understand that for mid-term transfers a student interview must be conducted.”

“Ah. Well, yes,” Ivo coughed, pulling the folder Aura had left on his desk in front of him and flipping it open, “But I do believe we can make an exception. He’s going into primary school? _Quinta Elementare_?”

Honestly, Ivo thought the boy in question looked far too young. He was rather gaunt, especially in comparison to the other pupils—most of whom had never wanted for food. If the boy belonged to the Vongola, his scrawniness was more than questionable. Well, it was possible they had only recently acquired him.

(Which begged the thought, did the boy _come_ broken?)

Ivo glanced up from the meager information available on the boy and studied him over his glasses. Ryo, was it? The boy was staring back—well, glaring, really. For such a wimpy looking kid, he certainly had a terrifying scowl. It was the sort of look worn only by people with nothing left to lose. Someone who would do anything.

Well, with a face capable of making an expression like that, Ivo couldn’t doubt he was mafia, through and through. It was a pity for a boy so young to be lost to the criminal world. The Vongola certainly liked them young. Most of their pupils studying at the Institute wouldn’t live past thirty. Ivo stoked his mustache, bitterly musing upon his own helplessness. 

What a pathetic old man he’d grown up to be; he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

“Yes, that’s correct,” Ottavio agreed, shifting slightly to glance down at his watch.

Ivo could take a hint.

“I don’t see an issue with it. I believe there’s a vacancy in Class B; Aura can take the two of you to meet one of the class teachers, if you’d like. Instruction should be starting at eight, but _Signore_ Barone should already be there prepping for class. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to greet his new pupil.”

“That would be wonderful. We’ll head over shortly and once we collect Ryo’s uniform today he will begin attending. I trust you’ll complete his transfer paperwork by this afternoon? Ah, and the _Donna_ is eagerly anticipating your monthly report. She sends her loving regards.”

Ivo watched, fingers clenching on the arms of his chairs, as Ottavio ran an absent-minded hand over the edge of a bookshelf, suit jacket shifting _just so_ from its elegant folds to reveal a barely perceptible bump at his waist.

“Of course,” he ground out, ears burning. How ridiculous he was to be so intimidated by a man half his age! Even so, Ivo wasn’t sure anything could shake the vision of _that man_—no, he was hardly a teenager at the time—smiling down at him, fingers lovingly dancing down his arm to—

Well, Ivo _certainly_ couldn’t forget the _Donna’s_ cold smile, mocking hand patting his tear-soaked cheek while she calmly, laughingly reminded him to never disrespect a woman of her standing again.

Ivo clutched at his left elbow, squeezing hard enough that his bones ached, quietly reminding himself that it was still indeed there. That man could fool anyone alive with that foppish appearance and stupid, gentle grin of his, but Ivo wouldn’t forget. Who could forget something like that? The world had been shocked at the news of That Night, been horrified at the thought of a handsome, kind young man being capable of _That_—all in the name of loyalty.

Loyalty. It was a toxic thing that slipped through the door when no one was paying attention, curling its way down the hallways and sneaking under the floorboards and walls to infect the person living there, sinking its teeth into their vertebrae and slowly, secretly corrupting the body until the thing it became hardly resembled the person it once was.

That fervent light had shone in Ottavio’s eyes from the moment Ivo had met him, hopelessly caught up in the heroism of the Vongola and content to remain wrapped between the _Donna’s_ fingers like warm putty. Timoteo had succeeded her not a decade ago, but Daniela remained largely in power and the _Don_ himself didn’t possess a much improved character. Sickly sweet honey was always the best sort of disguise for cruelty.

“It was lovely to see you as always, Headmaster. Your bonus should be wired to you shortly,” _that man_ said, as though this meeting was anything other than a formality to intimidate Ivo into behaving. As though he didn’t find it amusing to stake his claim on a young boy in front of him, cold eyes announcing to Ivo that _if anything happened to him, Ivo would be the first one dead and last body found._

What was it that mafia scum always laughingly warned each other about? 

It always seemed like they warned anyone who listened to watch for the clouds. Ivo peeked out the window as Ottavio steered his ward out of the office, squinting through his gold-wire glasses to try and focus his aged eyes.

It looked as though it would storm soon.

____

Ryo’s skin was crawling. There were people everywhere—milling in the halls, busily writing behind their desks, and chattering to one another whilst blocking doorways. It seemed as though only the adult instructors were occupying the frankly ostentatious school building, but even that number of people made the back of Ryo’s neck prickle with paranoia.

Even though Ottavio was dead to him, Ryo found himself clinging tighter to the man’s suit jacket, pressed up so tightly against his leg that he wondered if he would just melt into it. 

Ottavio and the smartly dressed woman from earlier—Aura, maybe?—were speaking to each other in a way that suggested at least some level of familiarity. The woman hadn’t asked him any questions yet, which Ryo supposed he would be thankful for. He wasn’t sure if he could stop himself from stabbing anyone who acknowledged him when he felt too much like a ghost and not enough like a human child.

The knife he’d stolen from the dinner table was a comforting weight in his waistband. Ryo had tried to wrap it up in a wash cloth to cover the blade, but it was stubbornly slicing and poking him with every step. The pain was enough to soothe some of his ever-present tension away, whispering reminders to focus alongside the uneven tempo of their pace and giggling taunts from the ring. Aura’s high heels echoed like distant thunder down the hallways.

Eventually they stepped into a room, pushing through the door that had already been left cracked. A middle aged man on the wrong side of fifty was standing in front of the chalkboard, scribbling along as he made notes for the beginning of the day. 

The classroom was large enough. Gray, slate floors stretched their way to lap up at the red bricks of each wall. Instead of individual desks, tables were pushed together with chairs circled around, name placards designating each seat as belonging to a specific child. Wooden cubbies at the back of the classroom already held supplies: coloring pencils, rulers, and tools to help with counting.

It was charming enough, but dread was the only thing Ryo could feel when looking at it.

“_Signore?_” Aura called out, “We have a new student that will be joining you.”

“What’s that?” The man turned around, revealing a wizened face. His hair was thinning despite his thick, grizzled beard. Ryo bit down on the inside of his cheek, shoving himself further against Ottavio and bitterly scolding himself for being allowed to be bribed to visit the school.

This was a horrible idea.

“_Signore_ Barone—it’s lovely to see you again,” Ottavio stepped forward, raising an elegant hand forward to meet the man in a tense handshake. Ryo cursed Ottavio in the same breath, moving along with the man despite how it brought the both of them closer to the stranger. Only the warm press of a hand against Ryo’s shoulder kept him from bolting and hiding in a closet to gnaw on his knuckles until they bled.

“_You_,” the man hissed, low and disdainful. Despite his tone, the teacher matched Ottavio’s handshake with a firm grip and respectful nod.

“My!” Ottavio chuckled, “It seems my reputation is proceeding me these days. What would I do if you gave Ryo such a horrible outlook upon myself?”

A mulish scowl slashed across Ryo’s face, fingers digging in deeper to wrinkle Ottavio’s suit jacket. It would take an act of god to remove Ryo from his place at Ottavio’s hip and the stability he had found there, freely providing cover from a blurring, unsure reality and the terror resulting from gazes tickling against the back of Ryo’s neck. He thought he heard the woman laugh, but no one acknowledged it.

“Ugh. Who left a child in _your_ care? They ought to be charged.”

“For what? Allowing a boy to live a decent life?”

“Child endangerment. Anywhere is better than in your hands, _Ottavio_.”

Ryo couldn’t help the angry shiver curling up his arm from his ring, lending strength to the muscles of his face and peeling back his lips in a near involuntary motion. How dare this old man suggest that Ottavio was worse than—

Well, names had power. Ryo shoved aside the instinctual, cloying fear that always stubbornly followed the thought of white coats and ghostly blue eyes, blinking away the way Barone’s face was sinking into a skeletal specter that continued to haunt the corners of Ryo’s vision.

In any case, Ryo was unable to reconcile the idea of Ottavio—kind, clumsy, helplessly worried Ottavio—as being somehow worse than those blurry days full of loneliness and confusion, of eating from the dumpster and flinching away from human contact, not yet a week left behind and still fresh on his mind.

“Watch your tongue,” he couldn’t help but spit, righteous anger welling up behind his teeth as he clung to Ottavio’s hip and snarled outright at the elderly man shocked into silence that was standing before them.

Ottavio laughed, the sound gentle enough to wash Ryo’s growing fury downstream. It left him as abruptly as the wind fled the hot, heavy days of summer, allowing humidity to press down, thicker than a wool blanket and just as content to smother any stragglers who failed to take cover indoors. Ryo pressed his lips together, forbidding them from parting again and cursing the defensive fury that continued to prickle at the back of his eyes.

“No wonder the boy seems so taken with you; he seems to balance on an identical hair-trigger,” the teacher sneered, utterly unimpressed and quickly recovering his wits, “For years I assumed I had made some fatal error with you, but it seems that your nature came about authentically by nothing more misfortunate than bad genes and the blessing of Daniella Vongola. Your fate was sealed upon the moment of your birth.”

“My, _Signore_ Barone,” Ottavio began, voice soft and musical, “Anyone who heard you speak in this moment would believe you to despise me.”

“I have made no attempts to disguise my true feelings on the subject. I believe the whole of the mafia world curses and spits upon hearing your name.”

Ryo chanced a glance at Ottavio’s face, drinking in the blank glint in the man’s eyes and nearly limp expression hinting itself at the corners of the man’s meaningless smile. It was an entirely different mask from what Ottavio typically wore—the expression of a man who, in that particular moment, wasn’t really feeling much of anything at all.

“How nostalgic,” Ottavio murmured, “I have memories of you scolding me here in this very classroom, but now I have earned your scorn not for playing around, but by doing what was simply my duty.”

“There are things more important than duty, you utter fool,” Barone responded, face twisted up in something that resembled the bare bones of grief long-held and desperately, forcefully forgotten, “I will do my utmost to impress that lesson, at the very least, upon this boy. Your name?”

Ryo pursed his lips at the sudden address, leaning against Ottavio’s leg and ignoring the drop in his gut when Ottavio’s cold hand slid away from his shoulders, stealing away the ever-present warmth that had begun to sear a mark into Ryo’s skin.

“Don’t be rude to your _Maestro_,” Ottavio sounded cold and mocking, further away than Ryo had ever felt him. His throat closed around the words trying to rise in his throat, clamping down on them with all the force his mother applied to his arms when he had once nearly fallen off the docks before learning to swim.

Barone’s face was much scarier without Ottavio’s gentle voice urging Ryo along. The shadows there were deep, sinking into the crevices that had divided the elderly man’s face into sections, skin sagging as though age and exhaustion were bodily hanging from it. If he squinted, he could almost see the grotesque, curling limbs of—

“None of that,” Ottavio interrupted, louder than life and right next to Ryo’s ear. He jumped slightly, blinking in surprise and then confusion once the shadows disappeared. “Introduce yourself to your teacher.”

Ryo didn’t dare voice his childish complaint of _but I don’t want to_. Hibiki had been more than happy to keep Ryo to herself, squirreled away in the backstreets of their city and known only to the brother that had stumbled upon her den by chance. To be known was to be exposed, and that itself only seemed to end in blood, screaming, and a gaping void that ate away at everything resembling happiness.

(Ottavio _saw_ him, is what Ryo carefully doesn’t think. To think it is to know it.)

“Ryo,” he ground out, feeling painfully out of place, as though someone was digging out his kidneys with a spoon and kissing his fingers with gentle, loving thanks.

Barone was staring down at him, brown eyes clearly pained despite the indifference portrayed in the firm lines of his lips and brow. “Well, Ryo,” he muttered, “With Saint Mary’s grace alone, I’ll be able to imprint upon you something at least _resembling_ humanity.”

Humanity—a boundlessly confusing concept.

What was it to be human? Ryo had seen so many over the years, every one of them differing widely from each other. His uncle was a human, so, surely, Fengyong spoiling him lovingly with soft words and indulgent smiles was something displaying ‘humanity’. Hibiki was human, so wasn’t the way she spat blood and flames in the face of adversity also human? In that same breath, the Doctor’s experiments seemed to also qualify as human. Was that to mean that everything he’d done served as an example of his humanity?

(It seemed almost strange to equate ‘humanity’ with ‘goodness’ when many of the humans Ryo had met seemed all too willing to dive elbow-deep into the guts of a little girl.)

Ryo didn’t fit into any of those categories. He wasn’t loving, wasn’t strong, wasn’t cruel, wasn’t…well. 

It had occurred to him before, but wasn’t ‘pathetic’ the best description for something like him? The people that had torn the lives of his loved ones to shreds still lived, perhaps free of any shame. That in and of itself was an unforgivable failure on his part.

Another to add to the list.

His mistakes weighed him down, dragging down his heart with all the force of an anchor sinking deeper and deeper into the sea. 

Ottavio absentminded stroked through Ryo’s hair, unfamiliar familiarity sending ghosts of a shiver racing down Ryo’s spine and jerking him out of his own head. His hands were shaking.

“Well, thank you for allowing us to greet you, _Signore_. Expect Ryo in your class as soon as tomorrow.” With that, Ottavio nodded and turned to exit the classroom, Ryo sticking to his side without having to think about much of anything at all. Aura peeled herself off the wall, an amused, knowing smile dancing on her lips as she fell into step next to Ottavio.

Ryo peeked over his shoulder before they passed by the door frame, eyes catching on Barone’s lonely figure, shoulders slumped and lines on his face deeper from pure exhaustion. In the next moment he was gone, the sound of children’s screams and whimsical laughter echoing from down the hall, far enough away that Ryo couldn’t see them.

“My, Ottavio,” the woman chuckled, low and smooth, “Your reputation certainly precedes you in these parts. I wonder, have you told the bo-”

“Aura.”

Ottavio’s smile was as kind as ever, but something about the tilt of his chin had Aura’s mouth snapping shut, nearly closing on her tongue. Ryo looked away, keeping his eyes on the hallway and focusing on the warm vibrations around his thumb as the ring laughed and laughed and laughed.

____

Shopping went exactly how Ryo thought it would go. Namely, Ottavio handed him far too many things to try and Ryo didn’t know how to put anything on and wasn’t willing to work to figure it out. The first time he’d exited the dressing room was with a pale blue button-up halfway pulled over his hoodie. Ottavio had immediately told him to re-enter, smile strained.

Taking off his clothing was horrifying. Despite being in a dressing room, Ryo still felt as though he was very much in public. The frigid air of the shop was enough to have his hair standing on end, goosebumps racing up his arms to prickle at his spine, as if to scold him for exposing himself and allowing the universe to gaze at his warped form. Ryo avoided the mirror like the plague, gaze firmly planted on a random wall while he struggled to button his shirt one-handed.

The uniforms of the school were decent enough. Certainly, they were the nicest articles of clothing Ryo had worn in his life. Maybe—perhaps…

Trying to think of Before was still enough to make him want to duck under a chair and bite at his lips until they bled.

The blue button up seemed to be paired with a charcoal gray blazer, the academy’s logo proudly emblazoned on the left breast. It took long enough to put his shirt on that Ottavio knocked to ask if he was alright. Ryo didn’t really know how to answer him outside of a vague hum, but that seemed to satisfy the man.

The only thing that had caught his eye was a long red ribbon hanging near the women's section. Ryo’s breath caught at the vibrant color of it, bright and cheerful and _definitely_ not something he would be caught dead in. He’d been careful to suppress his reaction, but perhaps the careful stillness of his face was enough to alert Ottavio.

In the end, Ryo and Ottavio exited the store with only a few bags. Ryo had refused to continue to entertain the man once daily-wear began to appear in the ever-growing pile of ‘to be tried on’. He’d managed to keep his hoodie despite Ottavio’s frequent, pointed frowns. 

Despite his refusal to listen to Ottavio’s cajoling, Ryo watched, unimpressed, as the woman checking them out folded a multitude of simple shirts and pants that he hadn’t agreed to. He wanted to run away at the quick flash of red in the pile of neutral-colored clothing.

(Even so, Ryo silently drifted behind Ottavio with the ribbon in hand.)

The outdoors were a sight wretched enough to make Ryo freeze. They had entered the shop early enough that the streets had been relatively abandoned, but late morning found hordes of people stumbling through the crowds, loud cries and muddled words echoing against the cobblestone in a horrible cacophony that pounded against the inside of Ryo’s skull.

It had been a while since the last time he’d felt this way—as though pressure was built up in his head, growing and growing until Ryo thought his eyes might pop out from the force of it. Watery memories reminded him that crowds had always been something to be reviled, something full of unknowns and mysteries and things to be avoided. With age, his hatred of crowds had only grown.

(If he could bear to admit it, perhaps the better word was fear.)

“I’m not a fan either,” Ottavio murmured with a wink, conspiratal and playful, “But sometimes you have to bite down and bear with it.”

‘Bear with it’, huh? How long had he held that mindset, that quiet hope of _he’ll come, he’ll come. Surely, somebody will come._

Long enough for anger to morph into terror, for fond memories to slump away into scattered recollections that he could, even now, barely hold onto long enough to enjoy and understand. The girl he’d been with had grinned at him and said everything would be alright, but it hadn’t ended that way.

No. The only ‘end’ that world could have reached was one of blood and fire and fear.

Ryo bit back the instinctive _’disgusting’_ and moved close enough that he could feel Ottavio’s heat radiating through their clothes. Ottavio grinned at him, boyish and knowing, and steered Ryo into another building with nothing but a gentle touch.

“We can hide out here for a bit,” he offered at Ryo’s pursed lips, “The crowds will disperse soon enough once the lunch hour rolls around.”

Artificially cool air drifted through the store, chilly enough to send shivers wracking up Ryo’s spine even with the hoodie wrapped around him. Ottavio didn’t wait for him, striding towards the counter with a winning smile as the worker greeted them. Behind the counter were buckets and buckets of gelato, flavors Ryo had never heard of greeting him from their stylized placard.

“Choose anything you want,” Ottavio gestured towards the gelato, oblivious towards the knot that had clawed its way up his throat.

“A-Ah,” Ryo choked, blinking wide eyes at the worker’s bloody grin while the whole world seemed to go sideways.

“My favorite’s lemon,” the young man—teenager—said with a warm, customer service grin that was reserved for young children and old couples. Ryo started, watching as blood splattered across the counter with every word he spoke. When Ryo looked up again, half of the worker’s head was gone, peonies blooming in the absence of flesh and blood.

“I’ll try that, then,” he whispered through numb lips, confused by the trembling that had overtaken his hands.

Ottavio ordered a cup of panna cotta, talking to the worker as though nothing was wrong. Ryo worried at his lip, rubbing incessantly at the horn of his ring even as it shrieked nonsensical words at him.

“Here you are!”

The gelato cone that Ottavio passed down to him looked perfectly normal at first glance, but the shaking in Ryo’s left hand just. Wouldn’t. Stop. Ottavio must have been talking to him, but it was as if they had dove underwater. The only noises Ryo could hear were gurgling and empty pleas.

“Does yours taste good, Ryo?”

Ryo mechanically took a bite at the reminder that he was holding something edible. It tasted like cobblestone dragging against his cheek and bottomless desperation, copper sticking to his teeth and tongue and trapping a sob in the back of his throat before he could let it out.

He was bent over and vomiting before he could blink, choking up the memories of loss and dull, clouded terror. _Aah,_ he thought through the dull ringing. Oh.

_Oh._

She’s dead.

Distantly, he knew it. Logically, he understood it. Emotionally, Ryo was lost.

“Mom,” he gagged, shuddering at the feeling of a hand against his shoulder and heaving again at the memories of being pressed into the floor of—home, safety, happiness—and watching his hand shatter. “Mom. _Mom_.”

The hand was back, pulling him against a chest that didn’t smell like straw or spice or anything he loved and stroking down the back of his head.

“Mama,” Ryo cried, unable to stop the flow of tears that had refused to come so many times, “Mom.”

“It’s alright,” Ottavio whispered into his ear, so gentle and soft that Ryo thought he might shatter at the force of it, “It’s going to be alright.”

“_Mom_, come back,” Ryo nearly choked on the word, unable to blink away silky black hair and quiet hugs, “Please, please. Don’t _leave!_”

“I’m here,” Ottavio hummed, “I’m not going to leave.”

Ryo shook his head into Ottavio’s shoulder, shoving his nose into the crease between neck and deltoid and ignoring the way snot and tears smeared against his face. He didn’t care. He didn’t care. He didn’t care.

He wanted his mom. He wanted warm cuddles and soft laughter, knowing hums and long fingers scratching against his scalp just the way he liked.

Ottavio just hugged him closer, careful and loving. As if he were delicate. As if he deserved to be cradled like this. Ryo felt like an empty sack of human skin, propped up only by the ring on his finger and the heavy weight of revenge on his heart. 

Something like him should just be left in a puddle of mud to grieve, not held like a loved and desired child.

But he wasn’t. Ottavio embraced him as though Ryo was something to be cherished and comforted, like a toddler who had skinned their knee and was crying from the shock of it. 

(Maybe for him, at least for this man who was here, he could stay sane.)

Ryo dug his fingers—_the only ones that worked, the others were broken and useless_—into Ottavio’s suit jacket and tried not to fall apart.

____

School was somehow the strangest place Ryo had ever been. He’d been driven in a car with the children he’d met the other day and watched in silence as they tussled and screamed the entire drive. Vin had smiled apologetically at Ryo after the others had tumbled from the car. It was almost laughable coming from the boy that had held Squalo in a headlock, grinning viciously as the other kid screamed obscenities Ryo didn’t know.

Vin had taken his hand—tightening his grip to keep Ryo from flinching away—and led Ryo to his classroom while chattering nonsense. With a cheerfully ominous, “Let me know if anyone bothers you and I’ll take care of it!”, Ryo was left standing alone in the doorway to his class.

Kids were already in their seats, leaning across desks to giggle loudly in each other’s faces about menial topics while breathing through their mouths and wiping their snot on their hands. Ryo stared.

“Are you some sort of statue like at the museum?” a young voice asked from behind. Ryo started forward, whipping his gaze around to meet the eyes of another boy. He was pretty short, standing a few centimeters below Ryo’s eye level. Even with that disadvantage, his grin was huge, wide enough to press light brown eyes into happy crescents.

“No,” Ryo answered, slow and stilted, unsure of how to proceed, “I’m a human being.”

“You look like a statue,” the boy hummed with a slight frown—and even that gentle expression looked wrong on his tanned face. His skin stretched oddly, as though it had never _considered_ moving in such a way that even hinted at unhappiness. “You’re so pale and scary!”

Ryo blinked, too caught off guard to process the offense ticking at the back of his throat. Or maybe it was pride? “Scary?”

“Yup!” and the boy was laughing now, musical notes dancing through the halls as Ryo belatedly realized—_Ah. Some people are born to be joyful._ “Someone as pretty as you definitely can’t be human!”

Embarrassment came, swift and overwhelming. Heat splotched his cheeks, rising high on his ears while Ryo worked his jaw and tried to figure out the correct response. It felt like a clock was ticking down, devotedly marching him towards his end with each second Ryo failed to respond.

“Aw, you’re blushing!” the other boy giggled, looking utterly pleased with himself and _there’s the death sentence_. “Hey, I’m Si-Woo, but most people here just call me Luca because they can’t pronounce it, so that’s fine too.”

“Ryo,” slipped out, muscle memory taking over before he could bite back the words.

“Hey, where are you from? My family immigrated from Korea when I was a baby! There aren’t many of us, so we gotta stick together!”

Ryo held the words in his mouth, thinking of bright red sleeves and _gong-fu_ tea cups, possessively clamping down on the information before this shockingly cheerful boy could drag it out of him. “Uh-“

He must have been silent for longer than was appropriate, because Si-Woo laughed, smile brighter than the sun, and grabbed him by the left arm to drag him into the classroom. “Don’t worry about it, don’t worry about it,” he assured Ryo with a soothing pat, “You don’t have to tell me. But as payment, you absolutely have to sit next to me!”

Ryo let himself be dragged forward without another word, freezing up in the face of his own uncertainty. Never before had he been treated so casually, touched and laughed with and grinned at, by someone his age. In this sort of situation, what was expected of him?

Si-Woo pushed Ryo into a chair, beaming when he stayed put, and slid into the one next to him. He scooted his chair closer and closed, until their arms were pressed up against each other and Si-Woo could rest his chin onto his hand and meet Ryo’s gaze.

Ryo stayed very, very still. With animals like these, playing dead was the solution.

“Hey, your eyelashes are suu~per long! I’ve never met a girl as pretty as you before!”

Oh, God. Ryo choked back the humiliation at being called a girl—he was wearing the _boy’s_ uniform, for heaven’s sake!—and tried to figure out how to correct the boy next to him. Si-Woo was leaning forward, close enough that Ryo could count each individual eyelash.

“Your eyes are interesting too! Grey eyes aren’t super common, you know.”

“Stop harassing the new student, Luca,” a heavy voice droned. Si-Woo collapsed back against his chair with a whine, childish pout appearing with no visible effort.

“But _Maestro_,” he dragged the word out, “I’m just _teasing_ her! We’re just having fun, right Ryo?” Si-Woo knocked his shoulder against Ryo’s with a pretty little smile, eyes sparkling.

Ryo stared back, throat swollen shut and ears red, unable to even mutter a complaint through the embarrassment that was sitting vicious and sticky in his chest, trapping all his words as he thought them. “A-ah.”

Si-Woo must have taken his sound of confusion for a confirmation, because he cheered loudly and wrapped himself around Ryo’s left arm. “See?” he crowed triumphantly, “I’m not bothering her!”

Barone stared blankly at Si-Woo. Ryo could almost see the hope drain from the man’s eyes. With a heavy groan, Barone reached up to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Luca,” he sighed, low and pained, “Ryo is a boy.”

It was like watching a lightbulb flick on.

Si-Woo blinked, then turned his gaze to Ryo, who was sitting stiff, upright, and so red he felt dizzy from it. “A-Aah,” he hummed, seeming to be lost in deep thought, “That’s…hm.”

He didn’t let go. Barone seemed to give up.

“Moving along,” Barone sighed, “Everyone, open your grammar workbooks to page one-hundred and seventeen…”

“Hey,” Si-Woo whispered, low and mischievous, bouncing back sooner than Ryo would have thought possible. Ryo flicked his gaze over, eyebrow twitching as he tried to contain his humiliation. “You’ll call me Si-Woo, right? If it’s you, I’ll be happy.”

Ryo wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole, right then and there. On second thought, with how tight the other boy was holding his arm, they’d go down together and then Ryo really _would_ never be rid of him.

“At least _answer_ me,” the boy whined, tugging at Ryo’s arm like a young girl begging for attention. Ryo coughed on the reflexive snarl, too confused and mixed up to really know what to do. “If you call me Si-Woo, I’ll let you go!”

Ah, at least that had a simple answer.

“S-Si-Woo,” Ryo choked out, feeling as though he had been flayed right open for this boy to peer inside. Si-Woo laughed in delight, ignoring Barone’s distant scolding and quite blatantly not letting go. He held up his crossed fingers with an impish smirk. Ryo must have had a truly pathetic look of confusion on his face, because Si-Woo patted his arm in a mockery of comfort.

“It means I don’t have to keep my promise!” Si-Woo explained, tightening his grip and happily turning to the front of the classroom.

Too many words tried to leave Ryo at once. As a result, the only noise that escaped his throat was something that sounded far too similar to a confused whine. Ears burning and mind swimming, Ryo tried to pay attention, but the only thing he could focus on was the laugh of the boy next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the long absence! i'm back at university and my schedule turned out to be crazy chaotic even without work and research, so i honestly just didn't have the mental energy to work on this. updates will continue to be sporadic for the semester! out of curiosity: would you guys prefer shorter, more frequent updates (4-6k instead of 8-10k) or longer chapters that are more spaced out?
> 
> i hope everyone is doing well and studying hard in this fall semester! i'm in a chemistry course right now (the bane of my existence) and it takes a lot of work, but I'm slowly forcing myself to remember the material. aaah....if only i could live in an anatomy class instead. have a lovely school year~!
> 
> **extra:**
> 
> “How was your first day of school?” Vin asked once they were all back in the car. Ryo dropped his small backpack between his legs and leaned heavily back in his chair, exhaustion dragging at his eyelids.
> 
> “Weird,” he muttered under his breath.
> 
> “Oh? Something happen?”
> 
> An argument had already started up between Cihan and Simone—something about a missing knife and suspected thievery.
> 
> “I’m not sure,” Ryo admitted, fixing his gaze out the window to watch the city fly by.
> 
> “Ottavio asked me to look out for you, so just say the word,” a quick glance revealed Vin unsheathing a knife, just enough for the blade to catch the light. Ryo quickly turned to look out the window again, ears burning and silently swearing to not breathe a word. The other boy chuckled, firm hand patting Ryo on the shoulder. “Aw, don’t look so worried! I’m just playing!”
> 
> No, Ryo decided while looking at the hard glint in Vin’s eyes. No, he definitely wasn’t.


	12. witzelsucht

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> witzelsucht: a feeble attempt at humor
> 
> a huge thank you to [cirrus](https://prideshark.tumblr.com) for editing this shitfire and making it readable! please tell them thank you~

It wasn’t long before the news spread through the mafia. Hushed, frantic whispers exchanged in the dark all passed on a single, horrifying message: _The Vongola is in possession of a Hell Ring._

The confirmation of their existence alone was enough to incite panic and dread. A real, genuine ring? Of a set said to grant their user significant fighting potential and abilities that would send shivers up the spine of anyone who saw it? And _that_ Vongola had it?

Surely, that was tipping the scales of power far too heavily in their favor! Sure, they all bent their necks when the Vongola demanded it, but wasn’t this far too overt of a move? Who could stand for it!?

And so, disquietude began its subtle, rotting infection.

____

“Well,” Tyr hummed, sharp teeth catching the moonlight that freely entered through the open window, “You were right.”

“Of course I was,” Ottavio chuckled drily, leaning against the doorframe behind him. “When exactly have I been wrong?”

“Countless times,” Tyr laughed fondly, “You’re a true hell-raiser of a man. Not even you can be bold enough to reject _that_. The question remains: what do we do?”

“We do what anyone does when trying to catch a rat. The bait has already been set. All we can do is wait and see what sort of flies the honey brings in.”

Cold eyes flicked towards their companion. “I forget sometimes.”

“Hm?”

“That you’re a person who even the mafia rejects in disgust. Moments like this remind me of it.”

“Rumors are rumors, facts are facts. Believe what you’d like, but in the end, the only person who knows the reality of it all is me.”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me! It’s not a bad thing. In our sort of career, it’s the sort of trait that keeps us alive. If someone pinches you, cut off the offending hand. That’s the ideal you were raised with, right?”

Ottavio smiled, slow and sweet. “The _Donna_ taught me many things,” he easily agreed.

Tyr’s laughter was wild and chaotic, ripping at the veil of silence that sat over the Varia compound. “That she did!” he sniggered. After a pause: “In the end, here you and I are! Two pathetic men, carelessly cast aside by a heartless woman who promised us the world.”

“Tyr,” Ottavio warned, voice softer than gossamer, “Even if it’s you, I won’t forgive insolence.”

“Even still, you’re _here_, aren’t you? She told you to stay, so you’ll stay, wagging your tail even as you starve to death waiting for a master that abandoned you. I’m the only one you’ve got left, Ottavio. You’d do best to remember that.”

Silence prevailed again, the man’s damned smile finally wiped away and replaced by the thin line of his lips.

“Oh, quit with that pathetic expression. We’ve gotten off topic. The rat waited until the boy was exposed to the wider world at the Institute, so there’s a chance that it’s a student rather than an inside job. How are you expecting to tell the difference?”

Ottavio stared at Tyr with hard eyes for a moment longer, looking as though he were weighing a few choice words in his mouth. After an extended breath, he sighed and leaned against the doorframe, tension forcibly fading away as he glanced out the window, cracked open enough to allow chilled air to make its way indoors. 

“Either way, it doesn’t matter. Any group that comes for the ring will have gotten their information from _somewhere_. With enough time and encouragement, everyone talks.”

“You _do_ provide the best encouragement,” Tyr agreed cheerfully, throwing back the last of his whiskey and sighing fondly at the burn.

“Whether it’s a threat from inside or outside, the end result will be the same,” the expression Ottavio offered his boss—surely, it couldn’t be described as a smile anymore—was frigid as he refilled the man’s cup. “She always said I had a talent for sniffing out the rats.”

“Of course,” Tyr chuckled, “You were her prized terrier, after all.” 

At the sour look that comment earned him, Tyr threw his head back and laughed louder, reaching out to pat Ottavio’s back with heavy thumps. “Alright, alright, I’ll quit it with the dog analogies. You sure know how to kill the mood. Go on back to the brat. He’d probably panic himself to death if he woke up without you there.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Ottavio sighed, then paused. “He would _not_. Ryo’s a bit more fragile than most, but something like that wouldn’t kill him.”

“You’re in denial, my friend. He clings to your coattails like he’d fall apart without you next to him. Rather than fragile, that thing’s already broken, isn’t he?”

Ottavio sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. 

“Perhaps,” he allowed, “But in the end, it doesn’t matter much. His sanity is important for the ring to be put to use, so that’s what we’ll fix. If that takes allowing him to hold onto me, then that’s fine.”

“Well, whatever,” Tyr finished his drink and placed it on the table, ice clinking against the glass. “I don’t really care what you do with him as long as there’s results. Beat him, befriend him—it’s all the same in the end.

“…It’s late and I want to be alone. Go to bed, Ottavio.”

A pause, then the noise of a bottle being set down.

“Of course, Boss.”

A shadow slipped away from beneath the open window without any sign that there had been someone there.

____

School did not get easier.

Each day, Si-Woo greeted him by the building’s front doors with a grin before entangling their arms and dragging Ryo to the classroom (escaping Vin’s considering stares). Each day, Barone droned on and on about topics Ryo couldn’t follow. His classmates would eagerly scribble along, taking notes and soaking up information like sponges. Each day, Ryo stared at blank worksheets, hand throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

“Ryo, can you stay behind for a minute?” Barone called out. No one openly jeered or taunted him, but Ryo could feel the burning gazes of twenty other children scalding the back of his neck.

Si-Woo had to pry his own arms off of Ryo’s, and the pout he sent Ryo’s way was magnificent in its exaggeration.

“I’ll wait up for you!” he sighed mournfully—as if being separated for more than a minute was a horrible tragedy worthy of tears—dashing out the door before Ryo had the chance to respond with the desperate _no need_ dying on his lips.

And so, with great reluctance, Ryo dragged himself to stand before his teacher’s desk, shoulders up to his ears and eyes firmly on the ground. The man stayed silent for long enough that Ryo took the chance to glance up. He immediately regretted it, his teacher’s quiet, inquisitive eyes meeting his.

…How awkward!

“Your homework,” Barone began, pushing forward a small stack of worksheets that had been left totally blank. Ryo suppressed his wince, sucking on his lips while he tried to figure out what to say.

He missed Ottavio.

“I-” Ryo began, but the lie faded away before it even left his throat. His hand burned in his pocket. It matched the agony at the base of his spine, long fingers gripping his tailbone and squeezing with teasing affection, as if to test how much force it would take to rip it out in one go.

“Are you having trouble with the material?”

Ryo couldn’t put a name to what he was feeling. He wanted to duck underneath a desk and hide, covering his eyes and ears so that he wouldn’t have to be faced with the reality of the situation.

“Ryo,” Barone said, this time gentle, “It’s alright to admit you’re struggling. I’m your teacher; I just want to know how to help.”

Ryo wanted to laugh. Help? When had something like _that_ ever been offered to someone like _him_? It didn’t matter, in the end. Losing his hand was hardly a blip in his memory, overshadowed by his mother’s desperation and his own terror.

Clemente hadn’t been able to fix him. It was probably lost for good. Ottavio hadn’t said anything about it, but it wasn’t like Ryo had tried very hard to hide it from him. 

It was different here, though. Ryo kept the hideous thing shoved down, down, _down_ in his pocket—out of sight, out of mind.

He’d probably die of humiliation if his teacher saw it. Then again, the other option was Barone thinking he was hopelessly stupid and a total lost case. A waste of time, a burden on the system.

Ryo wouldn’t begrudge him for it. It was the truth.

What could he do? He’d barely practiced writing with his dominant hand. He’d never thought—never _considered_—that it would be important to practice with his left hand. Well, of course he hadn’t thought that. Who plans for something like that?

The memories of the month spent with his uncle were vague, as though he was watching them play on a tiny, grainy screen from across the room. He could remember a calm voice walking him through exercises and drills, coaching him on how to fight off anybody in any situation.

Fat load of good that had done.

“It’s fine,” Ryo ground out through his teeth, voice whisper-quiet. “I’ll do better next time.”

His head was spinning with shame, heat rising high on his cheeks and ears roaring with imagined laughter.

Barone’s expression remained thoughtful, gaze distant as something resembling melancholic nostalgia crept through his irises. “Aah…you’re far too much like that man. Do me a favor, Ryo. Try your best to not idolize your guardian.”

Well, that was one way to ground himself. Anger came forth like a well-trained dog with barely a tug, coiling around his heels and snapping at the man in front of him.

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Ryo muttered, petulantly kicking at the ground in front of him.

Maybe there was a time that he’d snip and snarl, blatantly baring his teeth and _daring_ whoever it was to retaliate. That version of himself was long gone, shriveled up like a vegetable left too long in the sun and scattered in the streets of Catania alongside the fragments of his mother’s skull.

He didn’t have anyone to protect him anymore, not like Hibiki had once done for him.

“I’ll talk about him however I’d like,” Barone drawled, a single eyebrow raising, “He’s not a good role model. Too many people have taken their time to break him down into who he is now…Honestly, I don’t even know who trusted him with a child.”

“Does it matter?” Ryo asked, vague irritation making him feel more awake than he’d been for the entire duration of classes.

“I suppose not. You’re already tangled up in that whole mess,” Barone paused, then sighed, “Well, I guess it’s none of my business. I’ll give you a week to resubmit the worksheets. At least write your name on them?”

_Like he could even do that much._

In all the history of the world, was there a creature as pathetic as him?

Ryo clamped his mouth shut against the useless words building in his throat, took the damned papers, and left. Maybe he’d burn them. Then at least _they_ would find some purpose.

____

In the end, Ottavio found the blank papers before Ryo could hide the evidence in the trash can (or fireplace). Feeling trapped was familiar enough to set Ryo at ease, shoulders relaxing despite the light downward slant of his guardian’s lips. Kindness was an anomaly—being punished for failure was something Ryo could navigate with ease, something he _knew_.

“…Are you having trouble with the material?” Ottavio asked, a perfect echo of Barone from an hour ago. It was a little amusing, especially considering how the two of them practically snarled on sight of each other. 

“No,” Ryo lied through his teeth.

He didn’t care about what Barone taught. What use was mathematics? Would Ryo actually need to know the structure of the Italian government? The next time he was trapped on an examination table, Ryo doubted his thoughts would stray anywhere near the anatomy of a plant cell. Survival was the priority.

Ryo attended classes because Ottavio expected him to. _Passing_ them was not his concern.

“Why haven’t you been completing the assigned work?”

(His hand twinged.)

“It’s boring and I don’t want to do it.”

He’d always had issues with deferring to people he didn’t respect. It had never really mattered, first because he only had his mother and uncle, and then because the Doctor hadn’t actually cared whether Ryo respected him or not. In the end, he got what he wanted regardless of Ryo’s feelings on the matter.

Ugh. His teeth ached at the memories. Who wanted to linger on the past?

“Even so,” Ottavio sighed, fond smile starting up like a default sleep screen, “I’d like for you to do well in classes. I’m aware the younger grades are a fair bit slower, but as you progress, the topics become more immediately useful. Either way, knowledge is the key to power. A piece of information you gain now may make all the difference in a few years.”

It felt…uncomfortably like being reprimanded. Not in the harsh way he’d come to expect in recent years, but more like something from his early childhood. Certainly, the tone was gentle enough that Ryo had a bit of difficulty picking up on the subtle rebuke. It was eerie enough to make him want to run—he jerked up a single shoulder in an approximation of a shrug and stared at his feet.

Ottavio drummed his fingers on the stack of papers laid on his desk, looking like he knew exactly how badly Ryo wanted to hide under the covers of his bed.

“Have you at least made any connections with your classmates?”

Ah.

Well. One came to mind.

“I think so. The person who sits next to me touches me a lot.”

“Oh? Does that make you uncomfortable?” Ottavio’s eyes flashed.

...?

It was a bit strange to think about, but in his lifetime, only a few people had regularly touched Ryo—Hibiki. Fengyong. Aina.

Ottavio as well, he supposed. The Doctor didn’t even warrant an honorary mention.

His mom died due to Ryo’s ineptitude. <s>Fengyong</s> disappeared into a car <s>with the other two</s> and never returned. Aina was-

Well, _was_. Past tense. 

Ryo’s legs trembled from the echoes of rebounding pain.

Vaguely, he wondered how he’d get Ottavio killed. If the kid (Soup?) kept touching him, maybe he’d join the others.

“Ryo?”

The voice pulled him out from underwater, wrapping around his throat like a red-hot noose and yanking him up even as it choked him.

“It’s fine,” Ryo settled on saying, right hand curling into a loose fist within the deep pockets of his uniform pants. He could barely feel his fingernails press into his palm. It couldn’t clench any tighter.

Ottavio’s eyes crinkled at the corners, mirthless smile expressing exactly _how little_ he believed the bullshit Ryo was shamelessly spewing. It was refreshing, totally unlike the polite, copy-paste smiles he wore in public.

Ryo’s heart twisted, and even he could recognize the rare lightness in his chest as affection. The empty pit in his stomach ate it up without a second thought, shivering around the edges in delight and sending an undeniable request for _moremoremoremore_.

“Alright then,” he acquiesced, “In any case, your work needs to be done. Until you catch up, I’d like for you to meet with Squalo—the white-haired boy that’s around your age—so that he can guide you through any concepts you struggle with.”

Oh, and there was the punishment he was waiting for.

Better than losing a hand.

____

“Alright, brat. Let’s go over some ground rules.”

Squalo slammed a small stack of books on the table Ryo was sitting at. The castle _had_ a library, but it was coincidentally also where most of the Varia hopefuls messed around with each other. As a result, Ryo was happy enough working in the kitchen—constant interruptions in the form of horny teenagers hadn’t exactly sounded like a great time.

From what Ryo could tell, the small group of kids that he went to school with had already earned or otherwise been guaranteed spots in the Varia. The structure seemed based heavily on the ‘flames’ or whatever that everyone seemed so obsessed with. 

Tyr was the Boss and a Sky, the absolute leader of everyone and everything. Ryo knew this for a fact. Underneath him were six divisions. Each division leader belonged to a particular flame. They each controlled a division and, within that division, they had hand-selected trainees. It didn’t seem to matter what type of flame they were, but the majority of trainees in a unit belonged to that flame type. 

Outside of that main structure were the dozens of Varia hopefuls that trained day after day in an attempt to be noticed and selected for a division. Of course, even those people were the cream of the crop, only allowed to attend general training by personal invitation or recommendation.

“Who’s a brat?” Ryo huffed. Honestly, speaking to his elders like that—Squalo was practically begging for a scolding.

…Why was he offended again? Squalo was older than him. Admittedly, it wasn’t by much, but surely it still counted.

“_You_ are,” Squalo snapped with a truly impressive scowl. “I absolutely hate schoolwork. Studying is the worst thing in the world and I have to do _extra_ because of you.”

“And you think _I_ enjoy it?” 

“No. If you did, then I wouldn’t have been forced to be here.”

For all of the boy’s whining and bitching, he was almost offensively intelligent, flying through problems with ease. It was almost—no, it was _absolutely_ too quick for Ryo to keep up with. Squalo was droning on and on about…grammar?…but his words shot straight over Ryo’s head.

He couldn’t help but focus on the nearly aggressive set to Squalo’s shoulders and the stubborn edge of his jaw. Something inside him was shifting, slinking low to the ground in learned subservience, but incessantly curious nonetheless. 

Ryo failed to notice when Squalo trailed off into silence, but he _did_ catch the flinty, sharp-toothed grin directed his way. 

“Hey,” the boy practically purred, smug and mischievous, “This is boring. Wanna fight?”

Well.

Squalo was meant to be his tutor. Who was Ryo to question the methods his teacher chose?

Ryo’s expression must have shifted into something truly challenging, because Squalo wasted no time before diving over the table separating them. Long-dead instincts sprung into action, throwing Ryo out of his chair and off to the side.

Squalo was after him like a bullet, shoving off his vacated seat with a snarl. Ryo spun to face him, fists raising up to protect his face with the whisper of a dead man patiently guiding his wrists.

Squalo ducked under the fist Ryo threw, slipping up and under his guard to grab Ryo by the collar and yank him off balance. With a startled shout, Ryo struck Squalo in the crease of his elbow and kicked him in the chest.

Well-practiced footwork drew Squalo out of range before he sped forward once more, quicker than Ryo’s eyes could follow. He struck blindly with his right elbow, but two powerful hands seized him and—with a leg hooked around and behind Ryo’s knee—Squalo threw him to the ground on his stomach.

He settled on top of Ryo before the breath managed to leave him, locking Ryo’s arms behind his back.

“Yield?” he asked, voice friendlier and more at ease than it had been while explaining long division.

Ryo wanted to wildly buck Squalo off, to flip their positions and wrap his fingers around his opponent’s neck until he had the life choked out of him, but-

But-

He wasn’t somewhere that required that of him anymore.

Squalo’s voice wasn’t taunting and cruel. It was warm—playful. The boy had bloodlust, but it was lurking just beneath the surface, tucked away out of sight and kept for a situation that required it. A friendly spar didn’t meet those criteria.

For just a second, Ryo felt inexplicably guilty. Squalo was trying to have fun, to wrestle with a fellow trainee and develop their skills. Ryo had wanted to kill him, had felt the ache all the way in his teeth.

It was a bit scary to realize. Even among murderers, wasn’t he particularly monstrous? He felt too big for his skin, bulging unnaturally at the seams and leaking out through where he’d tried stitching himself into something functional.

“Hey, what’s up with your hand?”

It seemed as though he’d plunged into icy water with concrete shoes, plummeting to the sea floor without any hope of floating. Vaguely, he could feel Squalo’s hands on his wrists and the curious voice in his ear.

Disgusting.

Weak.

Useless.

Inefficient.

Injured.

_Your fault your fault your fault it’s all your fault._

How fitting. The bug who masqueraded as a human was caught out. The shoe was poised over his head, waiting for the command to fall and squash Ryo where he was sprawled out, pinned like a butterfly in a shadowbox.

It had only been a matter of time. Maybe it was good that the humans realized a cockroach was in their midst. Ryo seemed to bring bad luck with him everywhere, into every household that saw fit to bring him indoors.

No shelter had survived him. No protection wide enough to last against whatever curse seemed to linger at his ankles. 

Ryo had already been caught and sliced apart, dissected down into his most basic parts and put back together into an unrecognizable shape. He used the name Ryo, but it didn’t suit him anymore. It fit like an ill-tailored suit, too large about his shoulders and squeezing him unforgivably about the waist. A beetle in evening formalwear.

What a joke!

Ottavio would surely be disgusted. Who wanted a crippled fighter? His hand was weak, hardly even able to even make a fist. It hung weak, useless, and dangerous. It was simple: he was dead weight. Unable to contribute any resources, a failure of a protector, his uncle’s great mistake, his mother’s murderer.

The Doctor had it right all along. He wasn’t human—how dare he ever claim to be so? In the end, wasn’t it etched into his skin, boldly declaring to everyone with eyes to see:

44.

Not Ryo, never Feihong, not a Yun, but a number. Forty-four, the one who brings death. Misfortunate. The dog that dared bite the hand that fed it.

It was enough to make him laugh. What a joke! What an utter joke! An insect who tried to rise above its station, who struggled pointlessly, as if to claim _I deserve to live too!_

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He’d burned it all down long ago.

He was less than human, nothing more than a commodity, branded for the world to see. But who cared? He _had_ a reason, a purpose.

Eros hummed.

Everyone who tried to squash him would burn. An insect had no right to defy its fate, but he would struggle until the very end. If the gods existed, he’d willingly accept the punishment for going against the current once he was dead.

“VOIIIIIIII!”

As abruptly as he’d sunk, Ryo blinked back into awareness, cheek stinging horribly. Squalo’s hand comes back down for another taste, but it's simple enough to catch it before it makes contact.

“What the fuck!” Squalo snapped, scowl verging dangerously on the precipice of becoming a full-blown pout with his youthfully chubby cheeks.

“Ah,” Ryo says, blinking dumb and slow.

“_What the fuck,_” Squalo hissed again, but a tad more vehemently.

Ryo, wisely, kept his mouth shut. Squalo sat back on his heels from where he had been leaned over Ryo and glared at him, arms crossing before his chest in a move that emphasized exactly _how_ displeased he is, just like a spoiled young miss. With the long hair and pretty face, he could kind of see it.

Ryo’s ears were ringing. Squalo, unexpectedly, had a prodigious lung capacity. Reluctantly, Ryo is impressed.

“Hey,” Squalo begins, brow furrowed and jaw working, “I’m not going to apologize.”

“…Okay?” Ryo couldn’t help the confusion from leaching into his tone. Squalo had pointed out an observation—if Ryo hadn’t wanted that to happen, he should have done better at hiding it.

“_But_” Squalo continued, “Maybe I should have been smarter about pointing it out.”

Ryo pushed himself off the ground with his good arm, drawing his right hand into his lap and allowing himself to look at it. Things were easier when he didn’t think about them. It was simpler to let the things that hurt fuzz away into blurry recollections—present, but repressed.

Something like a disfigured hand…was pretty difficult to ignore forever.

“Damn,” Squalo whistled, low and impressed, “The fuck happened there?”

This kid…was awfully unrestrained. Typically, someone who ran into a wall over and over again was considered a bit slow. Wasn’t that the definition of insanity? Doing something repeatedly while expecting a different result. Ryo would typically agree with that assessment, except…

Except this person seemed like the type who could actually break that wall down. Unlike Ryo, there was steel in his spine and iron in his teeth. The world hadn’t taken him and shattered his spirit against the sound of hitting rock bottom.

“I’m not sure,” Ryo found himself admitting, following Squalo’s gaze to where it pressed against warped knuckles and frail bones. “Some days I remember more, but it’s kind of a blur.”

Squalo’s eyes flicked up, meeting Ryo’s with uncharacteristic solemnity. “You right handed?”

“Mmm.”

Squalo frowned again, chewing absentminded on his bottom lip with a sharp canine. Ryo watched blood well up, pretty as a ruby, before it was whisked away by the sweep of a tongue.

“I guess that explains the worksheets,” he finally hummed. “You don’t seem dumb.”

“I haven’t been to school a day in my life,” Ryo said, just to prove him wrong.

“Doesn’t mean you’re dumb,” Squalo sneered, “Just uneducated. There’s a difference, _dumbass_.”

Wasn’t that a bit contradictory? Ryo’s lips twitched.

“VOI! Shut up, idiot! I’ll hit you again!” Squalo shouted, one hand half-heartedly raising up in a loose fist. “Don’t think I won’t! I’ll punch some sense into that empty head of yours!”

This boy…made no sense. Wasn’t this where Ryo was kicked out and left for dead? Maybe Squalo just didn’t yet realize exactly how bad it was to keep Ryo around. Accepting him without a question—wasn’t that a little too naive?

Ryo…couldn’t bring himself to say anything. If Squalo didn’t realize, then Ryo was in no hurry to point it out. Until that inevitable day came when Squalo and Ottavio looked at him and saw the insect dressed in a human’s skin, he’d learn to smile and laugh and fight alongside his peers.

_Honestly._

Ignorance truly was bliss.

____

With Squalo’s guidance, Ryo’s comprehension of the material unexpectedly improved.

Prodigious was the only word Ryo could think of to describe Squalo. Evidently, one had to be fluent in seven languages (at minimum) to join the Varia. Squalo had already met all of the criteria for becoming a full-fledged member—the only holdback was his young age and, supposedly, Tyr’s healthy fear of being usurped.

Of course, Ryo’s newfound ability to retain information did not at all transfer to legible handwriting. It was, for lack of a better description, utterly unreadable. Chicken scratch, scribbles, hieroglyphics—all of that and worse.

Ryo handed his redone assignments to Barone at the end of the week, privately a little proud. That ember of a slowly resurrecting ego was smothered with a single, unimpressed stare, carelessly given over wire-framed spectacles.

“And how on earth am I meant to grade this?” Barone sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please rewrite it.”

Squalo knocked over a bookcase in his fury when Ryo relayed the message.

“More work!” Squalo shrieked through his all-consuming fury, stomping against the wall even after he’d put a hole in it with hands tangled in his hair, “This is so fucking boring!”

And so, Squalo used his authority as Ryo’s tutor to determine that the best way to improve dexterity in his left hand was to fight. Ryo didn’t dream of complaining—frankly, elementary schoolwork was even more droll than he remembered. At least getting the shit beat out of him regularly felt rewarding.

There was little pride to be had in an adult man managing to solve basic multiplication problems.

“What’s a predicate nominative?” Squalo snarled out, hair flying like a banner behind him as he ducked under the swipe of Ryo’s knife.

“Uh,” Ryo stalled, pausing for a split second to wrack his brain. Squalo, predictably, took advantage of his hesitation to disarm him and pin him, sword poking harshly at Ryo’s jugular with each heaving breath.

“Well?” And _there_ was the outrageously prideful smirk Ryo was waiting on. Squalo even added a little toss of his hair.

“No clue,” Ryo huffed, a bit embarrassed. The business end of Squalo’s sword dug in a touch harder, harshly biting at the delicate skin of Ryo’s throat. “Something about verbs? And nouns?”

“You’re just making shit up,” Squalo sighed, eyes raised to the ceiling of the training hall. “I taught you this yesterday. Predicate nominatives are a word or group of words in charge of completing linking verbs and renaming the goddamn subject!”

Squalo must have noticed how little Ryo gave a fuck, because he stepped back with a prissy _tsk_ and raised his sword back into a ready position.

“Again!” he snapped with a truly vicious grin. “Try and put up a better fight this time, will ya?”

Ryo pulled himself onto his feet with a feline grace he hadn’t felt in years, sinking low on bent knees and readying his hands.

“Give me a week,” he sneered, the expression feeling more and more natural with each forced repitition, “and I’ll kick your ass whenever you want.”

Squalo threw his head back with a boyish laugh. “Maybe you should learn how to win first. Now,” he shot forward with an elegantly depraved swing of his sword, practically vibrating with the violence of it all, “Name the first ten prime ministers of Italy.”

____

Ottavio’s presence was more soothing than Ryo had ever given him credit for. Squalo was knocking loose something that had been stuck in Ryo’s head with each spar and passionately furious snarl. It was a bit scary to realize. The first time Ryo had quirked his lips in Ottavio’s direction, the man had dropped his fork.

It concerned Ryo for other reasons as well. After all, who was he to smile and relax when he had corpses hanging off his ankles and people to kill? He had no right to be happy.

The ring—_Eros_, it prompted him—agreed.

At nighttime, it whispered into his ears and _reminded_ him. 

Ryo hated remembering. All that waited for him there was failure and the inevitability of isolation.

_We’re hungry_, it moaned, night after night. Its voice was changing—into what, Ryo wasn’t sure. He couldn’t pinpoint the shift, only peripherally was he able to recognize its occurrence. Maybe it was a bit higher pitched, a touch more recognizable and personal.

That worried him too.

_Ryo,_ it complained, _Hurry, hurry! We’re starving. Aren’t you?_

The Varia’s chefs had presented tortellini in a truffle-pesto sauce for dinner.

“Yeah,” he murmured back, careful to keep his voice subdued. Ottavio, even a room away, was easy to wake. “Be patient.”

There was a gap inside Ryo. Well, to be specific, there were several gaps. Maybe the Doctor hadn’t stitched him all the way back together, or maybe those places were just empty to begin with. Ryo didn’t think so. He was pretty sure he’d be whole, once upon a time.

The woman in the corner of the room agreed, broken glass smile gentled by the gaping hole in her head.

Staring at him made the pit inside Ryo ache even more, tiny arms uselessly reaching out for the woman with the desperation that—maybe if she reached back—they could be held again, comforted by the love of a mother.

Hm?

Ah?

Ryo blinked and he was alone.

Aah…something like him…really was just too pathetic.

The man underneath his bed disagreed, long braid draping off to the side from where he peeked out from the bed frame. Ryo sighed, loud enough to send gooseflesh racing down his arms. Wasn’t this bed too cold? Too soft? It would be much better to have someone to share it with, hair in his mouth be damned.

Ryo closed his eyes against the images, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. Eros hummed against his left thumb. Somehow, it felt smug.

Aah. Aaaaah. He really was hungry.

____

With Squalo’s help, school improved. Barone even smiled at Ryo when he turned his re-redone worksheets in. Sure, it was a bit mocking, but at least it was something.

“Hey! Hey, Ryo!”

Ryo’s arm limpet arrived with a bang, wasting no time in grabbing his hand and grinning expectantly, mere inches away from Ryo’s face.

“Ah,” Ryo blinked, suddenly feeling as though he needed to sneeze. That must have somehow registered as approval in Si-Woo’s world, because the boy’s face lit up.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking!”

Oh, maybe the school would burn down after all. Ryo’s nose itched.

“We’re friends, right?”

Ryo, hands still imprisoned within Si-Woo’s grasp, scrunched his nose to try and scratch it.

“Aww, I’m glad you agree! Anyways, friends hang out together, yeah?”

Aah, what a stubborn itch…Ryo’s eyes were watering. He really wanted to rub it.

“Oh! You already figured out what I wanted to ask. Don’t cry!” Si-Woo suddenly laughed. “I’m flattered that you’re moved to tears, though! So, that’s a yes?”

For what, exactly? Ryo really couldn’t follow Si-Woo’s thought process. Vaguely, he reminded Ryo of a dog he’d seen—owned? That couldn’t be right, he’d never owned a dog—once. What had it been called again?

“Aah,” he hummed, brow furrowing in though. It had been small, with short and dense golden fur.

“Yay! Okay, does Friday work? You can just ride home with me!”

“Shi…shi?”

Shiba?

“Oh, you’re Chinese, right? You’re welcome! I’m so excited—you’ll be the first friend I bring home!”

Ryo blinked, tuning in for the last few seconds of Si-Woo’s one-sided conversation. They were hanging out? Since when? He opened his mouth to ask, but Barone’s ruler tapping against the chalkboard interrupted his question.

“Alright, class. Today we’re reviewing for the exam…”

The boy had obviously made some sort of mistake. Ryo would just have to ask him later and straighten out the situation—Ottavio had helped him practice putting his thoughts into words. In comparison to the ridiculous scenarios he was given, confronting a young child wouldn’t be difficult at all.

Oh! Shiba Inu.

____

Looking back, Ryo had truly underestimated Si-Woo’s ability of selective deafness and irrationally well-disguised stubbornness. He only heard what he wanted to hear—not even Ryo’s most direct attempts had swayed Si-Woo.

With that in mind, it was no surprise that he found himself wandering the streets of Sicily with Si-Woo at the end of the week. While he’d managed to get used to being in a classroom with children his age, loud streets were still a bit above his threshold level. 

Without Ottavio—he’d waved Ryo off with a careless smile, ignoring his silent pleas to let him stay in the Varia castle—Ryo’s strategy for remaining calm extended solely to continuously reminding himself that Si-Woo was a kid.

A young, innocent, bright-eyed child.

Ryo hoped he’d never looked like that. From what he was able to recall—his mind was strangely clear, maybe fresh air was good for him—he’d always been reserved. His mother (Hibiki?) had been much the same.

Reserved, dependent, protected, and hopelessly foolish.

It was a bit embarrassing to remember, in all honesty. But at the same time, hadn’t he been foolish because he was allowed to be? In those peaceful, salty-aired days, there was no need for Ryo to be on guard and wary. He hadn’t needed to grow up at that point, sheltered as he was by his family and allowed to take life at his own pace.

Knowing that, wasn’t it normal to be just a bit jealous of Si-Woo? 

For that matter, even Squalo fit in that category. If certain events hadn’t occurred, Ryo would probably have turned out rather similar to the white-haired boy—bloodthirsty without having needed to see blood, happy so long as he got to fight whoever held his interest, and a bit arrogant to boot.

Aah. How unfair was that.

Si-Woo squeezed Ryo’s left hand tighter, beaming in his direction. “No need for heavy thoughts now, Ryo! Wanna go to the arcade?”

Predictably, Ryo practically broke the door of the arcade down trying to get out nearly as soon as they walked in.

The thought of gelato made him want to vomit.

He didn’t have anything he wanted to buy (Ryo ignored the defensive snarl that built up at Si-Woo’s dubious glance at his sweatshirt—it was perfectly serviceable!).

Ryo didn’t own any gaming consoles.

In short—Ryo was lousy to hang out with. Even he could recognize it. Si-Woo just laughed, breezily sweeping Ryo down quieter side-streets and into a small green space with a swing set tucked away in the corner.

It was empty.

“Even _you_ have to like swings!” Si-Woo teased, gently elbowing Ryo in the ribs. Ryo hadn’t used a swing set in his life.

Well, his current life.

Si-Woo hustled him over to the swing, grabbing the one on the right and flopping down on his stomach with a wheezing giggle. “Spinning on them is more fun sometimes, don’t you think?”

Ryo sat gingerly in the other seat, holding onto the chains with a hesitant grasp. “I guess,” he said, noncommittal at best. How did swings work again?

Ryo tried swinging his legs back and forth, jerking the chains to build momentum and succeeding only in making himself look like a fool. Si-Woo was polite enough to refrain from laughing outright, but he obediently sat up and began swinging.

Ryo copied his movements, leaning back and forth to heave the swing into the air. It was a bit awkward—his body had never built up the muscle memory for playgrounds that most kids embedded into their souls. With Squalo’s tutoring, he’d managed to regain enough control over his body that the motions were replicable.

Strangely enough it was actually…kind of fun?

If nothing else, it got Ryo’s blood pumping similarly to how it did during a good fight. Not quite as intense—that wasn’t possible, what with Si-Woo’s incessant giggling—but close enough that Ryo found himself wearing a satisfied expression.

“It’s great, right?” Si-Woo chirped, ratcheting his body higher and higher in the air until he spent more time hovering at the apex of his swing than actually swinging.

“Interesting,” Ryo corrected, smirking at the offended squawk Si-Woo directed his way. The other boy did a double take—did he have something on his face—before sending Ryo a truly blinding grin. If Squalo was a prodigious student, Si-Woo was probably a prodigious smiler. Something in Ryo softened—just a hair.

Focused as he was on performing well on the swings, Ryo failed to notice the man standing behind the swing set until a gun went off with a deafening _bang_. It clipped the chain of the swing, far too close to Ryo’s shoulder for comfort. With a yelp, he instinctively jerked forward to escape the threat, tumbling off the swing and popping up onto his feet in a single, smooth movement.

Si-Woo slammed into the dirt beside him a second later, glancing up with wild, disbelieving eyes to look at who the fuck had just shot at them.

Ryo grabbed him by the collar, dragging him up to his feet and back with a snarl and ignoring his startled squawk. “Who the fuck’re you?” he spat, backing up and desperately reaching for ways to buy time. His knife was in his pocket, but neither hand was close to it. A bullet would reach him before he managed to grab it. Even if he held it, what a shitty disadvantage.

No wonder everyone and their mother used guns in the mafia, Squalo notwithstanding.

Eros was vibrating—in excitement or fear, Ryo couldn’t tell.

The man standing across from them was outrageously tall and dressed to blend in with tourists. Ryo realized, with a hefty dose of mortal offense, that the man was wearing a t-shirt with bold print declaring: ‘I [heart] Sicily!’

“You’re the Varia’s ‘Ryo’, right? Ottavio’s latest charity case?” The man sounded bored, words slurring together as if he were half asleep.

“What’s it to you?”

It…wasn’t a great situation. Si-Woo was clinging to the back of Ryo’s shirt. Ryo could feel him tremble.

Hadn’t he seen this before?

The strong preying on the weak. It was an awfully common occurrence.

Ryo decided he hated it.

(_AinaAinaAinaAinaAinaAinaAina_.)

Ryo raised his hands, shivering as the ghost of a man—his uncle? Whowhowho?—pressed up against his back and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

_I’ve taught you this._

“Ryo? What’s going on?” Si-Woo asked, voice surprisingly steady.

“It’s alright,” Ryo lied, “I’ll protect you.”

Hadn’t he broken this sort of promise just a few too many times?

“There’s a pretty scary rumor going around right about now,” the man sighed. Half-lidded, dangerous eyes were focused on Ryo’s left hand. He followed the man’s gaze to where it rested on Eros. It was vibrating, the tip twitching intermittently as though it were seeking something out, like antennae on a snail. Eventually, it began tugging towards the man, unquestionably pointing directly at him.

_Hungryhungryhungry,_ it moaned, _Feed us? Please?_

“Rumor says a Hell Ring popped up out of nowhere. On the hand of a brat, no less,” the man laughed dully, disbelievingly. “I guess _that_ particular myth turned out to be true. What the actual fuck.”

“And what does that have to do with me,” Ryo grit out, managing to creep a few inches back and ignoring the ear-splittingly, loud, complaining shrieks Eros made at his retreat. Honestly…it irritated him too!

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Can’t say that I am.”

Wasn’t this familiar as well?

Ghost-blue eyes peered at Ryo from over the man’s shoulder, skeletal face split apart in a wide, disorienting grin. Maggots writhed in the empty space of the Doctor’s jaw, wriggling out of his mouth and dropping onto the man’s shoulder with wet _plop, plop, plops_—the sound of rotting meat dripping onto the floor.

He’d been cornered before as well—the harbinger of the end of happy days spent basking in the sunlight without fear.

Aah.

_Aaaah._

He remembered now.

It had been just him then, too. Him, the Doctor (back before he was the Doctor, when Ryo mistakenly believed him to be a man), and his switchblade.

How scary. How disorienting. How utterly, unimpressively unremarkable.

How many times had Ryo stared into the eyes of the ghosts, long dead and gone by his own hand, and walked away? Wasn’t this sort of getting old?

Ryo met the eyes of his—torturermanipulatordoctorcaregiver—and smiled the way Ottavio had demonstrated for him, day after day, time after time: polite, condensed, and positively _radiating_ nearly palatable waves of ‘fuck off’.

It was a mockery of what he’d imitated so long ago: his uncle clothed in red and looking at Ryo like he cared. There was none of the genuine patience, none of the carefully disguised deception. Instead of hiding the monster Ryo was pretending not to be, he bared his fangs and dared the dead man to _just fucking try it_.

The man was moaning weakly when Ryo shuddered back into reality, cheeks cut up (ostensibly due to the massive ring Ryo was wearing) and twitching uncontrollably from where he was sprawled in the dirt. 

Eros was purring, not sated, but _pleased_ in a way that Ryo hadn’t felt before.

Well, as the idiom goes: never look a gift horse in the mouth. Ryo jerked himself off the body, grabbed Si-Woo by the sleeve, and booked it out of the park. At the first alleyway entrance, Ryo spun on his heel, throwing himself into the shadows and darting through muddy puddles with all the confidence of a boy who’d grown up among the trash.

He didn’t know how long he ran, doubling back and looping around, but it was long enough that Si-Woo eventually dug his heels into the pavement and skidded to a stop. He was wheezing, bent over and shaking. His sleeve was wrinkled, wet with blood where Ryo had been clinging to it.

Ryo fought off the knee-jerk desire to sprint off and abandon his classmate. With a light sigh that didn’t reveal his continued twitchiness, he walked over and helped Si-Woo straighten up, touching as lightly as possibly to avoid contaminating him. “Crouching like that makes it more difficult for your lungs to expand,” he murmured, pressing against his own unsteady, rapid heartbeat with his good hand, as if to forcibly suppress it. There was an ache in his side that was rapidly receding, more pressing than a simple stitch.

“W-What the hell was _that_?” Si-Woo squeaked, eyes wide and trembling as though he’d seen a ghost.

Ryo ducked his head to avoid Si-Woo’s gaze. 

His clothes were filthy. Hopefully the bloodstains would wash out. He really liked his hoodie.

Si-Woo put his face in his hands and took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay,” he muttered, sounding as though he was talking to himself, “Alright. That happened. Um. Should we go home? I mean, to my home? Your dad can pick you up there. Should we call the police?”

Ryo decided not to correct the boy—he seemed terribly shaken. “Sure,” he easily agreed. “…Do you know how to get there from here? Cops would be a bad idea.”

Si-Woo turned horrified eyes on Ryo, seemingly ignoring the obvious stains with the force of will and power of healthy repression. “Dude. I thought _you_ knew where we were.”

“Why would I know that?” he huffed. It wasn’t like he left the Varia headquarters often. In reality, he really only went out for school. He hated Sicily—the stinking streets and crowding people were utterly putrid, nothing like his hometown.

“Because you were the one who led us here?”

Ryo glanced around with sharp, flinty eyes. The alley was empty, but the sun was setting quickly. It would probably be best to get close to a public road before dark with Si-Woo present. A quick, subtle look at the boy in question confirmed that he was still shaking and probably not in any shape to give directions.

Well.

He pulled his hoodie off, flipping it inside out to hide the worst evidence of the stains, and tied it around his waist.

Ryo grabbed Si-Woo’s hand and tugged him in a random direction, relaxing a bit when he felt the boy grip back tighter. Si-Woo was definitely the type to be comforted by physical contact.

They’d probably hit a familiar road…eventually.

____

When they reached Si-Woo’s home, Ryo froze in his tracks, suddenly far too aware of the dried blood flaking off of his knuckles. Si-Woo glanced back as him from the front doorstep, warm lights haloed against the back of his head.

“Ryo?”

Aah. What a horrible idea going out had been. An innocent had gotten involved and _seen_ him. In fact, he was still looking at him, taking in all of the jagged edges and serrated corners that Ryo hadn’t been able to tuck away quick enough.

It was unsightly.

Si-Woo would probably never talk to him again. The realization hurt more than Ryo anticipated.

“I can wait out here.”

Muddy dogs weren’t allowed indoors.

“Oh!” Si-Woo paused, then grinned sunnily (stiffly). “Don’t worry about making a mess. There’s a guest restroom we can clean up in!”

Ryo shuffled closer, tucking his hands away in his hoodie’s pocket and staring at Si-Woo’s chin so that he wouldn’t have to see the disgusted look in his eyes. Si-Woo was a good person. If Ryo was more like him, maybe he’d muster up the will to admit that it was alright, that Si-Woo didn’t have to pretend to be okay with everything that had happened.

A quick glance down confirmed that Si-Woo’s hands were shaking.

Ryo really was terribly selfish. Give him an inch and he’d take a mile, selfishly consuming every scrap of good-will tossed his way right alongside the fingers that dared to feed him.

He followed Si-Woo inside, ducking against the light and awkwardly ghosting along behind his guide. The home looked fine. Ryo didn’t have much of an eye for things like interior decoration, but it looked better than anything he’d grown up in. Colder, though. Impersonal.

They slipped into the aforementioned restroom, Si-Woo uncharacteristically quiet while he prepared a cloth in the sink. Ryo watched him carefully through the mirror through half-lidded eyes, toes curling in his shoes and eagerly waiting for Si-Woo to regain his senses and chase him out.

“Here,” Si-Woo murmured, pressing a damp washcloth against Ryo’s cheek and scrubbing at the flecks of blood that had stubbornly remained. For the second time in way too short of a timespan, Ryo looked at himself in the mirror and fought to not immediately tear his eyes away.

Dark shadows still clung to his under-eyes, but there was a softness to Ryo’s cheeks that he was certain hadn’t previously existed. He scrunched up his nose in a familiar sneer, just to watch the way his face twisted up.

Eros was humming on his thumb, shivering enticingly, as if to urge him on—for what, exactly, Ryo wasn’t sure. Si-Woo wouldn’t meet his eyes, frowning to himself as he rubbed the more stubborn flecks with increasing vigor. Frustration?

“What’s wrong?”

Si-Woo finally looked up, lips habitually curling upwards. Somehow, it looked more plastic than Ottavio’s. “I’m not sure,” he laughed weakly. “Something’s not right.”

_He’s going to chase you away,_ Eros whispered, old, familiar tendrils of fear creeping up Ryo’s neck, _He’s going to leave._

Why would that matter? Wasn’t that just to be expected now? Really, it would be more strange if someone stayed.

_It hurts it hurts it hurts ithurtsithurtsithurtshurtshurtshur-_

Shut up.

Just be quiet already.

Who cared?

_Please stay,_ it cried, _We’re lonely, can’t you tell?_

And who exactly is that? That lonely person...what a ridiculous concept.

_If it’s scary, why don’t you just forget it?_

Forget, forget, forgot.

At this point, what could be remembered?

_If it scares him, can’t he just forget it too?_

Aah.

Si-Woo was scared of him. Would forgetting Ryo make him smile again? It had been what felt like an eternity since he’d been the recipient of a genuine smile without malice lurking behind it. Fake smiles, hidden intentions, and unspoken words were clustered around Ryo like petals to a flower.

Ryo wanted Si-Woo to forget that bloodstained version of him, to return to a dull classmate who was clung to without fear and easily grinned at without reservation.

_Since that’s the case, let’s earnestly wish together for him to forget._

Ryo didn’t have the right flames for that—his were indigo wrapped around serrated edges, not plague-rotted blue that sat like fog deep in his lungs.

_That’s okay. If it’s you who desires it, it’s you who can make it happen. Let’s earnestly wish for it together. Good things come in threes!_

_Si-Woo, please forget._

_Si-Woo, please forget._

_Si-Woo, please forget_

____

The following Monday, Si-Woo’s greeted Ryo with a beaming smile—bright, sunny, and wholly genuine.

Eros vibrated around his thumb, pleased.

____

Ryo tended to avoid asking questions. Life with Ottavio broke that preference pretty quickly. Information was power and power meant survival. The second hitman who came after him was stopped by two bullets fired in rapid succession, blowing both of her kneecaps out.

Vin halted the third with a knife buried through their hands and into the wall. Following this, the older boy was sent to ghost Ryo’s heels like a particularly stubborn cold.

Ottavio himself took out the fourth with a textbook-perfect kick to the temple.

After a few weeks of Ryo refusing to ask questions, Ottavio sat him down in Valeria’s office for ‘A Talk’. It was all very boring and educational. Blah, blah, Hell Ring, blah, mafia unrest, blah, blah, assassins, blah. To summarize: there was a rat in desperate need of being caught.

Completely coincidentally, Vongola Nono’s youngest son’s birthday was in a few short weeks. He was turning an impressive fourteen years of age and the Varia were responsible for supplementing the main security force with a small team for the celebration. In a sense, it was the ideal training ground for the Varia’s youngest prospective members. Low risk, high reward. In what world would the Varia turn down the opportunity?

Vin, Simone, Squalo, and Ryo were given leave from the Institute for three weeks—presumably to familiarize themselves with their roles and responsibilities. In reality, Vin and Ryo were the only ones who bothered showing up for individual training. Squalo disappeared off to…practice against strong fighters?...and when Ryo asked where Simone went, Vin acted as though he hadn’t heard a word no matter how loudly he repeated himself.

The Vongola mansion was just as ostentatious as the Varia headquarters, if not more so—all fine silk curtains and plush decorations. Nearly every sofa Ryo saw looked as though not a single person had actually dared touch them, let alone sit on them, in their lifespans. Truly, the Vongola were another level.

The man heading the security for the Vongola kid’s birthday seemed like a nice fellow, if utterly unforgettable. Ryo zoned out through the man’s entire ‘welcome’ speech and missed his name in the process. Maybe he would be more concerned about it if Vin didn’t seem so capable, furrowed brows demonstrating his intent concentration and serious sense of responsibility. He was definitely the type who said lines like: “Leave it to me!” and “I won’t let you win!”

A reliable protagonist sort? Or rather, he sort of gave off the sense of ‘secondary male lead’.

Ryo would happily take the role: ‘monster of the week’.

After the security’s leader left them to their own devices, Vin’s shoulders slumped with a loud, overdramatic groan. “I can’t believe we’re stuck with Squalo and Simone,” he cried out, face buried in his hands. It was an excellent performance, complete with the occasional theatrical sniffle. So realistic, in fact, that Ryo felt the burning urge to hit him.

“What’s wrong with them?” Ryo made the mistake of asking, trailing half a step behind Vin once the older boy began slumping down the halls in a directionless meander.

“What _isn’t_ wrong with those little brats,” Vin hissed, uncharacteristically mean-spirited as he swung his head back to glare at Ryo. “Squalo is a fighting-obsessed maniac! Disrespectful! Noisy!—” Ryo politely did not point out that Vin was shouting “—Incomprehensible motives! Stupid verbal tic! And Simone. _Ugh_.”

He almost regretted asking.

“Squalo isn’t that bad,” Ryo suggested, peering at Vin from the corner of his eyes. The older boy’s face twisted in utter disbelief. “He’s pretty good with swords.”

“_Good with swords,_” Vin spat, visibly aghast, “Ryo. Squalo is on the fast-track to becoming the next Sword Emperor at the ripe old age of twelve. I think that goes a _little_ above ‘pretty good with swords’.”

…So you’re defending him now?

Ryo gave up on understanding his peers. Eros vibrated a bit in a way that felt far too similar to silent laughter for Ryo’s tastes.

“Ah,” he settled for replying. Luckily, Vin was perfectly capable of maintaining a one-sided conversation—all he needed was the occasional grunt for affirmation. His sedate cheerfulness soothed a burn Ryo didn’t even know he had, something left over from times of red robes and hair stuck in his mouth.

Lingering on the memories gifted him with the taste of spices and tea, warming his belly and aching with unspoken familiarity—a familial intimacy that had spoiled Ryo to the point of dependency. 

Deep, measured breaths kept Ryo in the moment. Vin was chattering away, voice pitched high and lilting in a way Fengyong’s had never hinted at. The walls around him were painted beige, the dark hardwood floors providing stark contrast. Ryo wasn’t edging around bustling streets clinging to a warm hand, he was clenching his fists in the pockets of the dress pants Ottavio had set out for him. The flashes of red he saw were the ribbon tied around his wrist, not a crimson tang suit.

“Did Ottavio send you with a gun?”

Ryo blinked and they were in front of a door, thick in a way that suggested considerable soundproofing. He could still hear someone shouting and the sound of breaking furniture.

“No.”

“That’s maybe for the best,” Vin sighed, drumming his fingers against his thighs without a distinguishable rhythm. “This is supposed to be an indoor shooting range, but it sounds pretty...occupied. We can just use a tree, it seems like less trouble than getting involved in whatever _this_ is.”

A solid idea in theory. In practice, the door flew open before they could turn away. A man threw himself to the ground immediately, which was a pretty damn compelling thing to look at. Vin following a split-second later was a bit more worrisome, but Ryo didn’t have time to open his mouth to ask before rusty instincts _surged_ to the surface.

Abruptly, his skin felt too-small and too-loose, sagging in places where purple fire once raged while indigo scrambled to fill the gaps. Ryo whipped out a fist, backhanding whatever the fuck was flying at his face without prejudice. Maybe, if Ryo was the kind of person who had _good_ and _lucky_ things happen to him, it would have worked out.

Instead, the universe conspired against him and actively sought to make sure he was miserable in any and all circumstances. His hand was late by a split second and, before he could react, a massive, hefty, _glass_ wine bottle slammed straight into Ryo’s nose with all the fury a prepubescent, hormonal, _perpetually temperamental_ spoiled brat could muster, knocking Ryo flat onto his back. Distantly, he heard glass shattering.

“Say that to my fucking _face_,” came the enraged snarl, sour enough to instantaneously curdle milk. Ryo watched through dazed eyes as a scowling, dark-skinned boy stomped through the doorway, prominent, regal brow etched firmly in a disgusted frown. “_I fucking dare you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha..haha...haaa.....
> 
> well. ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ
> 
> im alive??? mostly??
> 
> i would apologize, but i genuinely don't know how else this semester could have gone. talk about hell! what idiot takes 18 hours!? what idiot signed up for another 18 hours next semester!? it's this idiot. this idiot right here (*´Д｀)=з
> 
> exactly 7 days from now i get to drive home for winter break a few days early. i'm counting down the hours. with that in mind, i can easily acknowledge that there _is_ a benefit to online classes. only seven more days until i get to see my dogs and garden. it's close enough that i can taste it. (☍﹏⁰)｡ i'm terrified to think about what it looks like there...just how many hours will i spend pulling weeds? why can't i live in a world where spinach grows without me needing to babysit it? (ಥ﹏ಥ)
> 
> well. you aren't here to read about me whining about my comparatively minor dilemmas. 2020 babey! live fast die young. i, for one, am getting drunk off my ass as soon as finals are finished. no thoughts time! (￣ー￣)ゞ
> 
> someone commented and reminded me of trigger/content warnings! they totally slipped my mind. i placed some on the chapter they requested it of, but if there are any additional warnings you think need to be mentioned outside of the tags, pleasepleaseplease let me know so i can add them.
> 
> enjoy your update and upcoming winter break! we're so close! you can make it! power through! 
> 
> (*´∀`*) have a fantastic [unspecified amount of time]~~~~!


	13. weltschmerz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weltschmerz - the feeling one gets at the realization of the world's shortcomings when compared to one's own idealized expectations

Focusing on a conversation—if it could even be called as much, the sheer volume of yelling involved made it sound more like a bar fight—turned out to be quite difficult when one was laid out by means of a deadly weapon disguised as a wine bottle. 

The asshole who had thrown it was shouting at whoever had fled from the room and dodged the projectile that had led to Ryo receiving a surprise nose job. They were dark haired and laughing good-naturedly, completely disregarding the gun which was rather pointedly being shoved against their temple. In a word: weird. 

Well, it wasn’t like it concerned Ryo. He was perfectly content to lie on the ground and stare blankly up at the ceiling. At this point in his life, he was a veritable professional at it anyways. And, well, if he had to blink away hazy memories of blinding lights and an endless white glare, that was entirely his own business.

“Do you think I won’t kill you? Haah? Is that it, you useless trash brother?!”

The boy had switched from threatening with a gun to throttling his amused victim, whipping them back and forth by the neck in a move that made Ryo’s neck vertebrae ache in sympathetic pain—or rather, it _would_ have, were he not bitterly holding onto the pain radiating out from his nose. 

“Holy shit,” Vin groaned, pushing himself up on one arm while very much looking like he’d rather stay on the floor. It was a pretty nice floor, all things considered. Ryo had certainly laid on worse ones. The Vongola, at least, had the sense to put nice, plush runners over the hardwood—presumably, for the people who were waylaid by wine bottles thrown via testosterone-fueled little boys with serious anger issues. “Of all the people we had to run into…”

The words were clearly not meant for anyone—particularly not the person in question—but Ryo to overhear, but the boy must have had ears like a bat, because his head whipped around with all the force of a typhoon. Ryo could almost hear the sound of all his bones snapping.

“The fuck’d ya say to me, trash?” he snarled, low and dangerous—like a kitten.

Ryo mostly wanted to close his eyes and play dead, but something tugging in his gut made him feel as though he shouldn’t let Vincent die. Ottavio would probably be sad. Ha.

That in mind, Ryo rolled up into a crouch and wiped the back of his hand across the blood spilling from his nose.

“What’s it to you?” Ryo sniffed disdainfully, licking copper from his teeth, “You’re the one who started it.”

The boy blinked slowly, affronted by the mere _idea_ that someone might dare talk back to him. Another slow-motion blink, then...laughter, slow with a hint of deranged screechiness. It was the kind of laughter that Ryo definitely would have gone out of his way to avoid as a kid on the streets—it sounded like bad news. Preteen Ryo had no such reservations. What could be scarier than what he’d already lived?

Vin winced at Ryo’s words while climbing to his feet, placing an unsure hand on Ryo’s shoulder and tugging him back to stand in line with him. “A-Aaah…maybe-”

“You have no fucking idea who I am, you utter dumbass.”

“What a dirty mouth for such a scrawny kid,” Ryo sneered, “D’ya kiss your mother with it?”

It was almost too easy to slip fully into the sharp-tongued, street brat Ryo had once entirely been composed of (back before he’d been lovingly laid out and dissected for his individual parts). All that was missing, it seemed, was a familiar weight around his neck and the heavy scent of fish hanging in the air.

Maybe if he closed his eyes…

The kid was on him in a second, spitting and cussing, throwing fists like he’d been raised on the teat of Sicily herself. Laid out on the ground for the second time in a day...Ryo decided he really must be a point of inverse luck in the universe. Surely, there couldn’t be a better explanation for why such shitty things continuously happened to him.

He refused to admit that he—very,_ very _possibly—should probably have learned to keep his mouth shut.

“_Repeat that!_” the boy howled, twisting Ryo’s ears until he let out a pained shriek. “_I fucking dare you! Fuck! Fucking shitty piece of scum trash! Die! Just fucking die already!_”

Ryo fell back at the assault, arms raising to block his face in a familiar move. Vin made a choking noise, starting forward with a hand outreached, as though he wanted to help separate the tangle of limbs next to him, but faltering at the vicious glare the boy sent him. Snarling right back into his face, Ryo thrashed and got his knees under the boy, kicking him off and twisting back into a squat.

Before he could launch himself at Ryo once more, the boy’s dark haired companion threw himself forward to grab him by the shoulders and yank him back. Standing upright, it was obvious that he was significantly older than the angry one. Several inches taller, too, Ryo noted. If the way the boy’s back straightened to the point of straining a muscle was any indication, it was clear the height difference was obvious to him as well.

At the pause in conflict, Vin secured a hold on Ryo’s elbows and, irritatingly enough, refused to let go.

“Now, now, Xanxus,” the older boy soothed, “Don’t get so riled up by the words of someone who doesn’t know anything. Meaningless at best and stupidly naive at worst. You know the only people whose opinions matter are ours.”

The boy—_Xanxus_, Ryo rolled the name around on his tongue—scoffed and jerked his shoulders out of his companion’s grip. His hands were trembling, presumably with repressed rage, and clenching and unclenching irregularly.

“We sincerely and deeply apologize, Vongolas,” Vin began, bowing low at the waist. Ryo tried to remain standing, but, unsteady from the repeated blows to his head as he was, a harsh jerk on his neck was all it took to send him tumbling down to his knees. Aah...it kind of stung what little pride he had left. At the sharp look Vin sent him, Ryo grit his teeth and bore it. “This one knows nothing as of yet and was brought here to learn. We beg that you forgive his ignorant ways while he is still being taught how to navigate mafia etiquette.”

Bowing, while it seemed to be the best way to diffuse the situation, ended up having the opposite effect. Xanxus scowled even deeper, forehead wrinkling even as he turned his nose—like some prissy little princess!

Ryo _longed _to go over and punch the disgusted look right off his face. Fist to fist, like real men. None of the candied words and sugary sweet apologies, meaningless shows of respect and deference. Who the hell had time for that? Walking around bobbing heads like chickens, obsessed with the goal of sucking up...it seemed like a terrible lifestyle.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Ryo scowled off to the side. If Xanxus was going to act like a bratty kid, then so could he!

The older boy—teenager, Ryo amended—chuckled quietly. He had a friendly face that didn’t match the frigid tint to his eyes, round cheeks and soft features adding to the trustworthy charm about him. “I see what you mean.”

While Ryo couldn’t quite see it, he certainly _felt _the eye twitch, compliments of Vin.

“He’s still quite young, _Signor_ Massimo,” Vin repeated. “The Varia’s Ottavio brought him in a short time ago.”

Massimo raised his eyebrows, hesitating for a split second. It was enough for Ryo to take notice, snapping onto the perceived weakness with pinpoint accuracy. “Ottavio, huh? So this is the kid that’s got everyone in a tizzy...Roy, right?”

“_Ryo_,” he corrected snippily, nose scrunching up. Roy was a stupid name. Besides, his name was the only thing left of what Hibiki had given to him. Letting it be taken away again...he wouldn’t let it happen.

Xanxus was looking at him again, scanning him head to toe. Predictably, his eyes caught on the only place anyone ever seemed to look at. “Your ring’s super fucking ugly,” he sneered. “Dad’s is _much_ cooler!”

“Your dad’s also probably, like, a million years old and as wrinkly as an old, smoked pig skin,” Ryo snapped out, far before his mind could catch up to what he was saying. Vin almost immediately pinched the skin on the back of his neck and twisted until Ryo yelped. He sent a betrayed glance up at the older boy, hands flying up to protect the burning skin.

It was impossible to feel guilty, not when Eros was flexing around his thumb and radiating smug, content satisfaction.

“_Ryo_,” Vin hissed under his breath, “_These are the sons of the Vongola’s Don Nonno, Timoteo!_”

“And why should I care about that?” Ryo sniffed, curling his lip, “They just look like a pair of spoiled brats to me.”

Vin looked horrified. Predictably. He really was turning out to be a hardass, which was a bit of a shame. Massimo had broken out into another round of laughter, so it wasn’t like he was offended or anything. 

Spitting mad, Xanxus tried to lunge forward again, but his brother caught him by the shoulders and tugged Xanxus back into place, disregarding the furious noises his intervention caused.

“Well, I supposed if you don’t value your life, teasing a Vongola wouldn’t register as much. Though, for what it’s worth,” Massimo looked utterly amused, “There’s absolutely nothing stopping me from shooting you both in the head for the disrespect.”

Almost lazily, Massimo tapped the gun hanging at his waist. Imperceptibly, Ryo flinched back. 

Guns really were the worst.

“Ryo,” Massimo began, eyes crinkling when Ryo met his steady gaze, “It would probably be best if you learned some manners. My brothers aren’t nearly as forgiving as me.”

As if to prove his point, Xanxus was practically frothing at the mouth, white knuckled and swearing murder with the intensity of his glare. Gloriously, his mouth stayed shut. 

Ryo really couldn’t muster up any fear at his expression—he had both seen _and_ produced better attempts at intimidation than some spoiled little princess with hair-trigger anger issues. Truthfully, Ryo was more surprised he had refrained from continuing to scream. His brother had a better handle on Xanxus than expected.

Ryo’s lip curled at the thought. Who the fuck let themself be _handled_, like some kind of stupid animal?

“Thank you, sir!” Vin deferred, head still bent. “On behalf of Ryo, the Varia thanks you.”

Wasn’t it all unfair, though? By merits of something as stupid as birth, Vin had to bow his head and beg for forgiveness for a dumb kid like Ryo. If Ryo wanted to offend someone, that responsibility was squarely on his own shoulders, not anyone else's.

Who was Vin to try and take ownership of someone else’s actions? The thought made Ryo’s skin crawl. Being lashed to someone else like that by something as silly as comradery...how uncomfortable.

Massimo was smiling idly at them even as Xanxus shoved his arm off his shoulders yet again. “It’s a pleasure to nourish young talents like the both of you. Ryo has a lot to contribute to the Vongola. Cutting short a life so promising...it really would be a shame.”

“Many thanks for _signor _Massimo’s graciousness,” Vin murmured, then paused. “The Varia would also like to remind the young Vongola that our organization takes responsibility for our own as an independent organization. Ryo is of the Varia. Any judgement passed would be at the discretion of the Varia Boss. We take care of our own.”

Massimo hummed in acknowledgement, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Of course, of course! Vongola will always support the organizations underneath her rule,” he easily agreed. “Well, apologies for the distraction. You were headed for the firing range here, yeah? Go ahead. Xanny and I are finished here.”

Ryo (very purposefully) let out a mocking snigger the second he heard the nickname. Shoulders stiffening, Xanxus ripped himself away from his brother's grip and stomped off down the hall, Massimo strolling after him with a brief, relaxed wave over his shoulder. 

Ryo let out a grin full of teeth. “See ya, Xanny,” he couldn’t help but call out, barking out a short laugh when the other boy’s ears turned bright red in response.

“I cannot believe you,” Vin groaned once they disappeared down the hall. By the time Ryo turned to face him, Vin had already buried his face in his arms. “You’ve spent too much time with Squalo. Holy shit. I thought I was gonna have to kill Timoteo’s kids!”

“...Why?”

Vin ripped his head up to give Ryo a truly impressive scowl. “Take it from me,” he snapped, eyes burning with something unrecognizable. “A quick death compliments of the Vongola guards is significantly better than whatever the hell Ottavio would do to someone for getting you killed.”

Ryo bore that particular bit of information in silence, then shrugged and wandered into the dumb room that had started the whole interaction. Vin followed him in, muttering complaints under his breath while setting up for the afternoon. Tuning him out didn’t take any effort. It wasn’t like Ryo even _wanted_ to learn how to shoot a gun in the first place.

…

...

...Xanxus, huh?

____

Predictably, Squalo thought the whole thing was hilarious when Vin loudly complained about the encounter over the dinner table. Whetstone in hand, Squalo laughed good and hard, bodily bent over the dinner of lobster thermidor _gnocchi _the chefs had served.

“Squalo, _please_,” Ottavio sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You’re only encouraging him. Also, how many times have I asked you not to sharpen your sword at the table? Dinner is not the time for weapons maintenance.”

“Well,” Squalo grinned, sharp and teasing, “At least once more. I honestly expected you to have given up by now.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryo watched no less than five others at the dinner table slip their various knives and guns into their laps.

Ottavio caught Ryo’s eyes with a subtle, long-suffering smile hinting at the corners of his lips. The tension he’d inadvertently been carrying around his jaw released, and Ryo smiled tentatively back, stiff cheeks unfamiliar with the expression.

“In the future, please refrain from antagonizing Timoteo’s boys,” Ottavio said. “I know they don’t look like much, but one of them _will _eventually ascend into the seat of _Don Vongola_. It would be best to prevent a worsening of relations.”

“Oh, quit being such a suck-up,” Tyr butted in with a harsh bark of laughter, four drinks deep and cheeks flushed cherry red. “Those snooty fucks sure like to lord their power, but we _are _the Varia. They’ve been tugging on the leash pretty frequently. I’d say it’s great to remind that sleezeball Massimo that we’re called an independent assassination squad for a reason. Key word: _independent_.”

Lips twisted wryly, Ottavio looked as though he’d heard the words a million times. For all Ryo knew, he had. “And yet, we’re still a branch _belonging_ to the Vongola Familiga.”

“When the tree trunk itself is infected,” Tyr’s challenged, eyes flashing, “Maybe cutting the healthy branches off before disease can spread is the best course of action.”

“_Tyr,_” Ottavio snapped, good mood evaporating as quickly as morning dew beneath the midday sun. Ryo stiffened, caught off guard by the shift in temperament. He’d never seen Ottavio do much more than frown. The leap to a raised voice was significantly more than he’d been prepared for.

Valeria, seated between the two men at Tyr’s left side, suddenly looked as though she wished she were literally anywhere but where she was.

“Ottavio, I know you eat their shit up on the daily, but even _you _can agree that-”

“Tyr!” Ottavio interrupted, “You go too far. There is a difference between respectful questioning and outright rebellion.”

“So what!?” Tyr snarled back, standing up so quick that his chair was knocked back. Ottavio followed him up, left hand planted on the table so that he could face the Varia Boss. “You can see the direction the Vongola is going with your own eyes, you ridiculous fool! If a ship is sinking, only the willfully blind stay behind! Hesitation will only get us killed when the world itself turns on those power-drunk tyrants.”

Valeria slipped out of her seat as quietly as she could, rounding the table and gesturing for the trainees to exit with her. Ryo hesitated—leaving Ottavio behind in a heated argument had all sorts of alarm bells ringing in his head—but Vincent grabbed his arm and tugged him out of his chair. Dazed, Ryo easily followed.

“You’ll get yourself killed by these petty sentiments of yo-”

The door to the dining room slammed shut on the argument, cutting off whatever Ottavio was trying to say.

“Well,” Cihan muttered, “That escalated quickly.”

“Cihan-'' Valeria tried to start, then sighed and rubbed her temples, shoulders dropping low. Evidently, she didn’t have enough energy to scold anyone. “Ugh. Whatever. You guys go ahead and head back to your rooms for the night. Most of you still have school tomorrow.”

“Yes ma'am~!” Vin chirped easily, grabbing the youngest girl by the hand to lead her away. Ryo, careful to keep her in his peripheral, couldn’t think of her name. Aaah...he was really just a bit of an asshole. Surely the universe would forgive him for that, at least.

“G’night, Ryo,” Squalo called out as he strolled past before pausing, eyebrows shooting straight up. “Ah! We forgot to spar today, so meet me in the training hall at five, ‘kay? You clearly still need it, if you’re coming back _this _beat up.” 

“Aren’t you the one who ran off in the first place…?” Ryo muttered under his breath, just a touch resentful at being ditched by the other boy. _Squalo _would have helped him beat the shit out of that mouthy little brat. Vin was a boring, talkative loser who forced him to learn how to shoot guns and followed him around on Ottavio’s orders like a cloud of bad breath.

He felt stifled.

Squalo twitched, paused for a moment as though to consider the pros and cons of re-breaking Ryo’s freshly set nose, then proceeded to pretend as though he hadn’t heard anything. A crying shame.

Valeria leaned against the hallway wall, watching the five trainees trot off. Then, she buried her face in her hands, inhaled, and screamed at the top of her lungs. It must have served as an excellent outlet, because she deflated like a balloon afterwards.

“...Where am I supposed to go?”

“_Christo!”_ Valeria nearly leapt out of her skin. “Fucking hell! I thought you went with the others.”

“I stay in one of Ottavio’s rooms,” Ryo offered by way of explanation, twisting his hands together in the front pocket of his hoodie (which he’d retrieved from the trash after returning from the Vongola mansion).

“Do you not know where it is?”

“...He keeps the doors locked.”

“Ah,” Valeria looked a bit like she’d bit into a lemon. “I guess that’s a problem.”

“Mm.”

Could it get any more awkward!? Ryo glanced back longingly at the doors to the dining room. Ottavio was just out of his reach.

“Well, I guess you could just come with me for now,” Valeria decided with a sigh, rolling her head to crack her neck. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a bit of a closer look at your ring. Taking advantage of the situation and all that”

Ryo and Eros _did _mind, but Valeria had originally been the person Ottavio brought Ryo to see. All she’d really done before was stare at Eros, which, while a bit weird, didn’t really bring any harm. He shrugged and followed her back to the one of the first rooms he’d been inside after arriving at the Varia Headquarters.

If anything, the stacks of books had only grown taller. A few things were missing or moved from their spots in the display cases, but overall, it was nearly identical to before. Valeria absentmindedly swept the loose papers on her desk into a pile, weighing it down with a tiny, oddly shaped metal ball that was perhaps the size of a thumbnail.

Valeria caught him looking at it and sent him a secretive smile. “It’s Flame conductive metal,” she explained with a wink, tapping it with a singular, long fingernail. It made a clear ringing noise, as though it were made of glass. “Allegedly, all genuine Ring sets contain at _least_ a core made of this stuff. Nearly all of it is kept away from the mafia by the Vindice, but there are still a few tidbits floating around here and there. Tyr brought me this chunk upon request—it cost an arm and a leg. Literally!” She let out a laugh as though it were the funniest joke in the world.

Ryo rested his left hand in the clear space she’d made for him. “Could you explain flames a bit more to me? I don’t think I really understand it.”

“Ah, sure!” Valeria hummed, leaning forward. The magnifying glass in her hand made her eyes look comically large, swirling about grotesquely with every twitch. “What would you like to know?”

“I keep getting told I have Mist flames. What exactly does that mean?”

Unnaturally warped, dark brown eyes flicked up to meet Ryo’s. If he so wanted, Ryo could probably count her eyelashes. “Ottavio’s explained the basics of Flames already, yeah?” she waited for him to nod before continuing, “Well, basically you’re someone who has the potentiality to use Mist Flames.”

“Potentiality?”

“Mhm,” Valeria reached out, pausing until she received a sign of permission, to stroke Eros along the horn and gasped when the ring shivered along with her touch. “Amazing...Ah, yes, potentiality. Flames are insanely difficult to practically utilize without some method of channelling them. These days, weapons are the most common conduit. _You’ve_ managed to get yourself a genuine ring, though!”

“Is that better somehow?”

“Well, it goes hand-in-hand with _this _special little tidbit,” Valeria tapped on the small lump of metal serving as her paperweight. “Part of the reason the Hell Rings are so renowned is that they’re made of one-hundred percent, pure Flame metal. There’s a few theories that believe the connection between the rings is due to all of them being made from the same cursed lump of ore.”

Ryo scrunched his nose up. “Cursed?”

Valeria laughed at his skeptical tone, pausing to jot something down on the notepad to her left. “Maybe ‘cursed’ is a bad way of putting it. There’s lots of fairy tales and such relating to the Hell Rings. Hey! Speaking of, have you ever heard of true Earthlings?”

Ryo shook his head, lips pursed. Valeria was a whole lot stranger than he’d given her credit for.

“Well, true Earthlings are said to be the original inhabitants of planet Earth tasked with keeping the world in balance. Lots of stories refer to them as demons, but I don’t think that’s necessarily accurate. In my opinion, I think that the existence of Earthlings would make the human race aliens, funnily enough! Anyways! In this particular myth, an unlucky human lost everything he had. His family, his livelihood...all gone! 

“Now, in lots of universe origin stories, fire is the harbinger of life. In those times, humans had nothing. The Earthlings selfishly hoarded all of the world’s fire and left nothing for the humans. As such, humanity lived in the darkness.

“This unlucky man saw the unlucky world that he lived in and despaired. Seeing the man’s grief, a sympathetic Earthling—demon, whatever you want to call them—came to his side. The unlucky man saw the fire the Earthling held and a terrible envy came over him. How could the Earthlings live in the light while humans were relegated to a miserable existence possessing nothing? It was terribly unfair, the unlucky man decided. And so, he concocted a plan.

“He begged the Earthling to provide a way for him to even momentarily live in the light. ‘Let me, a man with nothing, see what life is like with something, temporary as it may be’. Overcome with grief for the unlucky man’s terrible fate, the Earthling agreed and brought him a lump of magical ore infused with all of the Earthling’s flames.

“The unlucky man, who had suddenly come across a wonderful stroke of luck, took the ore and had it fashioned into seven rings, one for him and the rest for his deceased relatives. The rings, the man discovered, had fantastical properties. One could hide him from anyone searching for him, another brought great fortunes to him. The man used the rings to amass great wealth and power. In a world where no human but one possessed flames, it was only natural for that singular human to reach the top.

“The rulers of the Earthling, seeing the way the man abused the flames, took it as a sign that humans were not ready to hold the light of the world in their hands. They sent the sympathetic Earthling to retrieve the rings, but the power of the rings was strong enough to fool even the Earthling. Seeing this, the previously unlucky man managed to hide himself.

“Furious at the betrayal, the Earthling used its lifeforce to curse the rings, which still held their flames. The ring that hid one’s presence turned into a ring that cursed the wearer with a life of solitude. The ring that brought fortunes became a ring that first brought numerous misfortunes.

“The man was once more swamped by misfortune after misfortune. Death, plague, and war occurred regardless of where he wandered. No human in the world would accept him, and no Earthling could bear to look at the horrible thing he had become. No longer human, but too human to be anything else.

“Once again engulfed by despair, the unlucky man decried his own actions, cut off the tainted hands of his which dared to steal an Earthling’s flames, and took his own life in repentance. Alone, rejected by the world itself, and miserable, he died alone and his soul was destroyed by the rings themselves. However, due to the nature of the flames of creation within them, the rings took the pieces of the man’s soul into themselves. Like this, they developed their own lifeforce. In order to continue their sentient existence, the rings traded their abilities for the soul of whoever wielded them. 

“The world entered a period of great instability. The sympathetic Earthling, ashamed by the evil things that had been borne of their flames, took the rings and hid them to protect the world, but by then the damage had been done. Humans had learned how to seize and use the world’s fire. The scales which the Earthlings kept so precariously balanced were irreparably altered.”

Valeria had seemingly forgotten that he’d originally asked about Mist flames. “That sounds completely ridiculous,” Ryo scowled. “Aliens, curses, and superpowers...do people actually believe that crap?”

“Well,” Valeria smirked up at Ryo, “They _are_ called myths for a reason. Stories like this are just explanations for totally scientific phenomena told in a time when logical explanations simply didn’t exist.”

“So what exactly are they, then?”

“Nobody knows!” Valeria cheerfully spread her fingers out, pen and magnifying glass dangling to the sides. “In short, they’re old and powerful weapons. There’s not many scientists who can even _study_ Flames. Very few people are in the know, and even fewer have the means to actually research them. Flame conductors are what the Varia employs me to study, so I have easier access to material than a lot of people. Still, you never know how far is too far before the Vindice show up!”

Sitting at a desk all day, reading musty books that looked like they’d be better off buried ten feet under alongside whatever civilization they’d originated from, and to top it off, research was policed...It all sounded like a massive pain.

“Is that why Ottavio brought me to you?” Ryo asked skeptically, swinging his legs back and forth.

Valeria huffed out a breath, dropping the long-forgotten magnifying glass and leaning back into her chair with an exaggerated stretch. Ryo could hear her vertebrae cracking, one after the other. “Something like that,” she agreed, gesturing vaguely with one hand in a _so-so _motion. “Hell Rings are something of a topic of interest to us. Frankly, most of the mafia world thought they were just that: myths. That is, until little old you popped out of the woodworks!”

“Don’t call me little,” Ryo huffed. “So _this_—” he lifted up his right hand and watched the light bending around Eros, it was as if even the world itself recognized the ring as something unnatural “—is supposed to let me use those Flame things?”

“Well, yeah,” Valeria agreed, cocking her head. “Don’t you already know this? You used them the first time we met.”

Truthfully, Ryo had little to no idea what their initial meeting had looked like. He’d followed Ottavio onto a train and...something about balloons? If he really focused on the memory, Ryo could remember seeing a few odd things around. It was better not to linger on the thought.

“Was that really it?” he asked, nose scrunched up. “That seems kind of lame.”

The power to make himself hallucinate...in what world was that helpful!? Ryo respectfully requested a refund.

Valeria threw back her head and laughed, a loud and pleasant sound. “You seriously crack me up! That ring you’ve got there is the reason the entirety of the mafia world is up in a massive tizzy right now, you know? And you think it’s lame! Aaah...too funny!”

Ryo had nearly forgotten what it felt like to look at someone and only see an extremely punchable face. Thankfully, Valeria was reminding him.

“It’s not that,” he denied, “Eros saved me. Mist Flames just seem really...underwhelming. Aren’t Flames supposed to be super strong or something? Lots of people seem desperate to get their hands on them.”

“Well, yeah,” Valeria easily agreed, amusement dancing at the corners of her eyes, “There’s lots of freaks in this world who’d do anything to get an active Flame User on their side. Even if someone doesn’t have a conductor, there’s plenty of passive effects Flames have that simply aren’t available to most people. Besides, they’re genetic. Simply bringing in a highly desirable Flame user to produce offspring can make any small-time Family hit it big overnight. It’s a really gross trade, though, so be careful to stay away from those types of people. They’re a bunch of traitorous scum who’ll play nice, then tranq you when your back is turned.”

“I see,” Ryo murmured, sick to his stomach—whether it was rage or fear he was feeling, Ryo really couldn’t say. He didn’t really think Valeria would be amused if he told her that ship had sailed.

Always one to abide by conveniently bad timing, Ottavio poked his head through Valeria’s door with a friendly curl to his lips. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

“Not at all!” Valeria objected, shaking her head. “As a matter of fact, we’re _bonding_.” 

“Are you sure about that? I heard the sound of you lecturing from down the hall. It seems more like Ryo inadvertently signed up for a class.”

“Ryo mi~ght have asked me about my favorite research topic.”

“...I really didn’t,” Ryo tried to deny, affronted by the cocked eyebrow Ottavio sent his way. “Really! I seriously just asked about Mist Flames!”

“Well, Valeria is known for her ability to twist any conversation back to Rings, if you let her,” Ottavio teased. “I think it might actually be listed as her special talent in her dossier.”

“You’re full of bullshit,” Valeria scoffed, resting her chin on her left hand and gesturing regally with her right. “Now, take your boy and go to bed! I’ve got papers to revise and data to collate. I’ve babysat for long enough.”

“I’m ten years old! ...Or something.”

“Yes, yes,” Ottavio chucked indulgently, holding the door open. “Come on, then, Ryo.”

Obediently, Ryo slipped down from his chair and trotted to the man’s side, throwing a lazy _goodnight _over his shoulder (and stuck out his tongue with a silent _blehhh_—the dumbstruck look on Valeria’s look was pretty hilarious).

“You little brat!” Valeria halfheartedly called out after him after her heart recovered from the shock. “...You two have a good night.” The door slipped shut on the sight of her bent over her desk, collecting papers in the dim lamp light, pen once again in hand.

____

_“Don’t you want to know?” _Eros giggled, familiar weight flexing on his thumb.

“Know what?” Ryo murmured back, half asleep and tongue loose by virtue of exhaustion.

_“If the lady’s weird stories were true~”_

Blinking sleepily at the ceiling, Ryo shrugged and pulled the blankets further up around his ears--late autumn had brought quite the cold front to Sicily and Ryo’s toes always got chilled without another body for him to curl into.

“Does it matter?”

_“Wouldn’t it be satisfactory to you, Ryo? If it’s you, we’ll tell you. That is, if you feed us. We’re hungry!”_

“I ate earlier,” he yawned, eyes slipped shut once again. “Aren’t you the one who always talks about taking what you want? If you’re hungry, then just eat.”

_“…”_

“_Ryo~, Ryo~, Ryo~.”_

“Hm?”

“_Hey Ryo, wanna know a secret?_”

“Mmm.”

“_We’re lonely, too._”

…

…

…

With a content sigh, Ryo pressed against Hibiki’s familiar side and fell asleep to the noise of flies buzzing in his ears. Given enough time, it would warm back up, wouldn’t it?

____

“Tonight, you’ll be on comms.”

The Vongola had really pulled out all the stops for Xanxus’s fourteenth birthday. Ultra formal, black-tie guests twirled around the dance floor to music provided by a chamber orchestra. Several banquet tables were laid out in an elaborate spread—Ryo had counted no less than ten rotisserie chickens. There was even a champagne tower! To top it all off, a full-wall banner of the Vongola coat of arms hung at the back of the elaborate hall.

Within half an hour of the party starting, three toasts to the Vongola’s prosperity had been called. At the center of it all was lonely little Xanny—mouth twisted up, trapped in a loose conversational circle with what looked to be his father and other older men, and looking utterly miserable.

“Yessir!” Vin, Squalo, and Simone snapped off (weirdly in unison) to something the head of security said. Ryo still had no idea what the man’s name was.

They all went off in separate directions, trotting along in whatever preset path they’d instantaneously and perfectly burned into the neural pathways like the freaky little prodigious child assassins they really were.

The problem rested in that Ryo had no idea where to go. It might have been possible that he was not the best listener.

His savior came in the form of a stern looking woman with the (second most) intimidating pair of brown eyes that Ryo had ever seen. First on that list was, of course, his mother. She scrunched her eyebrows once she’d caught his eye in a move that Ryo correctly interpreted as ‘_Follow me, you strange little child of whom I have no opinion yet_’.

She led him down a flight of stairs and through enough identical hallways that, by the time she finally opened a door, Ryo’s head was spinning. He could still hear the music, so they couldn't have been significantly deeper in the mansion, but Ryo would be hard pressed to find his way back unaided.

The room was dimly lit by the wall-to-wall screens that simultaneously flicked between camera views every few seconds. It displayed everything from the hall in question to seemingly normal windows—even the outer perimeter wall was shown. Another woman was already waiting inside the room, feet kicked up onto a table and idly eyeing the scenery, coffee mug in hand.

It felt a lot like overkill, but Ryo sensed that the woman wouldn’t appreciate his opinion. She pulled out a seat for him and pressed a headset into his hands with a stern look. 

“Press the button on the side to speak, change channels with the switch. Everyone stays on channel four unless a private conversation is needed. Identity codes are on the page taped on the keyboard. Channel six for team orders. Channel seven for long conversations. Channel two for potential security breach. If one of us calls a definite breath, I’ll call to mobilize. Other than that, just give the orders I pass on to you.”

Ryo hummed in agreement, brushing his fingers over the headset and scanning the page of the night’s codes absentmindedly. Staring blankly at the clunky television screens in front of him, Ryo belatedly realized that it would end up being a long night.

“Call Team Sigma to channel six. Send two members to the northwest corner, about 30 meters from the inner perimeter wall, to check for signs of life. The heat scanner is picking up probable woodland creatures. Team Alpha to channel six. Fan out in the crowd. Have someone tag the woman in the long, olive dress with beige trim, around one-hundred and seventy centimeters and fifty-three kilograms…”

Ryo sighed deeply, then settled in and got to work. Parties were _such_ a drag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ｷﾀ━━ﾟ+.ヽ(≧▽≦)ﾉ.+ﾟ━━ ｯ ! ! !
> 
> hallo, friends~
> 
> this chapter is a bit shorter than most, so sorry about that! continuing on would have made the pacing awkward. forgive me for betraying any expectations!
> 
> i hope everyone is doing well. as for my life, i'm a bit puzzled recently...i've had a brussels sprouts plant growing in my garden for probably three or four months, but it serious hasn't changed at all since it reached a foot in height. what the heck am i supposed to even do about that?! i think they can sense that i don't actually want to eat them, but they're the only plant in my box for the winter season. (;﹏;) really...i just want some validation from my plants 
> 
> so, for my new year's wish: pretty please, tiny brussels...grow! (人>U<)
> 
> i hope you've all enjoyed this month's (belated) update. as always, i love questions! well, really I just love hearing about everyone's days. please feel free to enlighten me!
> 
> stay safe, loves~ ( ˶˘ ³˘(⋆❛ ہ ❛⋆)!♡

**Author's Note:**

> y’all PLEASE check out [this stunning art by the lovely mufumufu](https://bit.ly/2ZFE43f) and sing his praises! take a look at his other art while you're there and give him a follow. it’s all absolutely gorgeous!
> 
> also by our lord & savior mufumufu: [_the most beautiful thing you'll ever see_](https://ibb.co/zSktLvc)
> 
> i seriously love and appreciate every single one of you guys (ಥ_ʖಥ)
> 
> stay safe!


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